Hellhound
by reine-des-rythmes
Summary: Dr. Vinestradt is an employee of the Wayne Science Facility in Gotham City. A daunting, secret task is set before her, but when word of her success gets to the Bloodhound, a criminal lord, she needs help. Who can save her? BatmanOC. Like it or leave it.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

She flipped the pages of names until she reached the one labeled one-o'clock. She scanned the signed list, looking for a familiar name - nothing. He wasn't here. She clenched her fists - he had promised - and checked the two o'clock. Only one name was listed, and it wasn't his. She practically threw the papers onto the long reception desk, and tried to pull herself together before the tour.

A journalist for Gotham Science was here to do an article on the lab work done at Wayne Enterprises. There had been a press leak a few days ago about the work for the police department and, indirectly and though no one would admit to it, for Batman. The important job was said to be to find a "cure" for the new terrorist calling himself the Bloodhound, though reporters had taken to calling him simply "Hound". The journalist was thrilled to be in the secretive Science building for the company, and was eager to interview his guide. She glanced at the clock. _Twelve-twenty_. She sighed as the man made his way through the glass double-doors to the lobby. He already had his notebook out.

"Dr. Erin Vin... Vines... Vinnest—"

"Vinestradt. Vine-stratt. But please, call me Erin." They shook hands.

"Of course. Erin. Now, I know I'm here a little early..." he laughed, and she resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "...But I'm here representing the scholarly journal Gotham Science, which comes out every month with all the latest news from the scientific world existing here in our city. I just wanted to ask you a few questions about what you do here." He stressed the "you", as though he came here to see her and nothing or no one else. "Do you mind?"

"Of course not."

He missed her sarcasm. "Wonderful!" His pencil was poised over the paper, and she imagined it was quivering with excitement. He was nice – if over-enthusiastic – so she tried to quell her cynical side for the next forty minutes as he barraged her with questions she couldn't give him real answers to. _I've said "I'm sorry, that's confidential" at least fifty times_, she thought at the end. The one o'clock tour began with the journalist looking very put-off with her unhelpful and vague input. But her orders came from the top - Mr. Lucius Fox himself had met all the public-relations scientists in a private meeting that explained exactly what information they were allowed to disclose.

Not that she'd volunteered for PR. That had also come from upstairs, from her boss and one of the leading research chemists in Gotham, Hayden Morris. He said she was good with kids. _Because _so_ many kids want to come to a lockdown nerd building rather than the zoo_, she thought angrily.

The tour went smoothly for the next fifty-five minutes, at which point she was bored to tears and itching to get back in the lab. She was not at all sorry to see the ignorant CEOs leave, though she felt mild guilt at the frown on the journalist's face. Then she ran to the lounge for a snack and coffee.

When she got back, it was two-oh-two and her next tour was standing, hands in pockets, next to the reception desk. _Morris is going to _kill_ me for being late_. She walked up the man, putting on a smile and quickly apologizing.

"Don't worry about it. I only just got here myself," he said, smiling in return.

"Good!" She looked at his nametag. Bruce Wayne. As in Wayne Enterprises.

_Holy – _Erin wanted to cuss. Bruce Wayne, suave multi-billionaire, the handsome Prince of Gotham, was standing before her, as her next tour.

"I'm Dr. Vinestradt. Would you like to begin, sir?" Erin asked, praying her voice wouldn't squeak. She nervously tucked her hair behind her ear.

"Sure, that would be fine."

She tried to imperceptibly clear her throat as he followed her down the hall. _I'm being silly_, she thought. _I'm a professional, and he's my employer, for God's sake. Take some deep breaths._ She looked over her shoulder at him, and he gave her another smile. _He's just being polite_, she reminded herself. _And he's _not_ that attractive. You're overreacting because you're fresh out of grad school. Get a grip!_

"Here's our first stop." She pointed to a heavy steel door and turned to him. "Before we go in, I should probably warn you. You'll have to put on gloves and goggles in order to enter most of the labs. Some we don't go into for tours because they require a gas mask. However, if you want to see them, we have an extra for you."

"Well, I'd like to see as many rooms as possible. I'm very interested in the scientific work you do here. And masks aren't a problem."

Goosebumps raced over her shoulders, and she shivered. His voice was eerily deep. _Focus_. She wondered as to how much scientific knowledge he had already – probably not much, but would she have to stick to basics, like 'A proton has a positive charge' or 'Electricity only flows in a closed circuit', or worse, 'Don't touch the beakers with biohazard symbols on them!' That would be one hell of a tour. _No, this definitely wasn't a place to take a school field trip_, she thought, and grinned a little.

"Did I say something?" her charge asked her, with a bemused look in his eyes.

"No, just thinking. Take these," she said, pulling rubber gloves out of her lab coat pockets and slipping on her own. "The goggles are inside." She pulled open the door, and he stepped behind her and held it as she passed through. "Careful," she said. "It's heavy."

"It's no problem."

They moved inside and the door clanged shut. The air buzzed with electricity, this being the lab of some of the circuitry and computer scientists working in the building. Both grabbed goggles. "Here we design some of the most cutting-edge circuitry used in electronic devices today. We're currently working on a method using sapphire and carbon nanotubes. This will be make electronic usage more accurate than today's silicon circuits, with the added bonus of the circuits being at least half their current size."

He looked thoughtful for a moment, and Erin wondered if he had actually taken any of that in. Then he nodded and said, "Because the nanotubes would automatically align if grown on the sapphire, due to the hydrogen, right?"

She stared at him, and he stared back through the thick goggles. "Right." She nodded, feeling self-conscious and stupid for underestimating his intelligence. "That's... You're exactly right." She turned away to hide her blush. "If you would like, you can get a closer look at what Dr. Hane is doing," she said, pointing at an elderly physicist bent over his work at a desk. "He's probably calculating resistance of the nano-..."

But Wayne had already left her side to speak quietly with Dr. Hane. She hovered near the door, feeling slightly out-of-place, as astrophysics was more her cup of tea. Though recently she had been roped into the chemistry department, and was doing pretty well, her boss said.

_Just like PR_, she thought. _Keep up the good work, Erin. You're doing fine. Right, yada yada. Then they send in the sexy, smart CEO who also happens to be the town's bachelor and billionaire, you lose your cool, you're falling for another pretty face. Shake it off, girl. Focus. He's your employer, not your friend._

Wayne walked back over to her, nodding. "This is excellent. Shall we move on?" he asked. Erin took a breath.

"This way."

They went up the elevator to the fifth floor and walked about the extensive library of periodicals and journals – Erin spotted the section devoted to Gotham Science – and Wayne spoke alone with one of the librarians. Then he led her to a section on general medicinal practice and pulled a 1989 journal off the shelf. On the front was –

"It's my dad. He used to let me take out his stethoscope, when I was very young. I'd heard he was on the cover of MedSci years ago, but I couldn't find a copy."

Erin didn't know what to say. Why was he telling her this?

He smiled a little and put the magazine back on the shelf.

He looked at her. "Where next?"

Next was the seventh floor, nuclear physics, then the eighth, ninth, and tenth, dedicated solely to medical and pharmaceutical research, though the hospital was four blocks away.

He seemed to be looking for a particular experiment throughout the medical area, walking around to each setup in each room she led him to. She wanted to ask him about it, but hesitated. What if it was an experiment they weren't doing? That would expose her boss in a bad way, and she'd definitely be fired. And she really didn't want to lose her job.

Otherwise she was having a great time with Wayne. He had very few gray areas on the topics she covered, and was actually better informed than she on many of the more physical and mechanical topics, such as electricity and robotics. She found she was going off and telling him things about the projects she usually left out of the tour lectures. He took it in stride and kept up with her banter, impressing her beyond belief. They actually argued on the elevator on the way to the twelfth floor about the best way to treat autism.

"Let me show you the work we've done on mirror neurons. We've managed to isolate two areas of the brain where they're located. This room," she said as they walked down the corridor.

"Do you do work on this sort of thing?" he asked as they entered the anteroom.

"Well, I was in the nuclear and astrophysics department, up on the twentieth floor, but I've been moved down to this level, for biochemistry, and my current specialty is the brain's reactions to steroids."

"What exactly do you do?"

Erin missed his sudden intense stare. She wondered whether she should tell him – the work came from the police, not Dr. Fox, and definitely not from him. She looked at him before they entered the neuroscience lab. He was watching her as though waiting for something. "Uh, I… I'm currently working on an antitoxin." That should be safe.

"Would this have anything to do with that Hound person in the Narrows?"

_I should have known he'd figure it out. I won't underestimate him again. But what do I do?_ Erin thought frantically as she stared at the whitecoats milling about in the lab beyond the glass doors before her. _He's found out – _crap_ – why did I ever agree to do this sort of thing?_

"Doctor?" He looked concerned; the expression on her face must be one of horror, or nausea, as she was feeling both. She relaxed her frown.

"Yes. That's what it's for." _Well, it's all over now –_

"Good."

_What_?

"You authorized that?" she asked incredulously.

He gave her a strange look. "Of course I did. Nothing goes on in this building without my authorization." His eyes bored into hers, concern etched on his brow. "Are you all right? You look a little pale."

She smiled. "I'm fine." Her hands were cold and sweating, she realized, and stuck them in her lab coat pockets to dry them without him seeing.

"Shall we proceed?" She stepped into the next room, and the scream of a monkey reached her ears. "Oh, about the noise…"

Wayne appeared to be thrilled as they walked towards her lab. He peppered her with questions about her experiments on the steroid Hound was taking. She had told him that they didn't know exactly what he was taking, and that they assumed he had it specially made for his body.

"In order to create the antitoxin we estimated the chemical formula of the toxin. When we discovered what it was, we were very surprised. It's a combination of lethal toxin and powerful steroid, which means that if an average man, even if he had an identical body to Hound's, took that stuff, it would overload his nervous system in about five minutes."

Wayne's expression darkened. "That means he's been making it and testing it for a long time."

She nodded. "To build up immunity to the toxin."

"But why would he use the toxin at all?" he seemed to ask himself.

"I've wondered the same thing," she began helpfully, "and I've made a few guesses: One, no one can copy his method any time soon, because they would also have to build up immunity – so no threats equal to his enhanced strength, and there's probably some pride involved. Wants to be the only one who could do it. Two, though this isn't proven as I don't have any volunteers to test it on, I think it messes with his head. Makes him angry, or frightened, and gets his adrenaline pumping."

"I think we can safely assume he's insane," Wayne said, shaking his head. They stepped into her lab.

"Jerry!" she called to the technician at the back of the room. "We've got a visitor."

A man with dark graying hair and thick glasses came forward. He looked to be about six feet tall, and wore casual work clothes and a white lab coat like Erin's. He and Wayne shook hands. "How d'you do, sir." Jerry said in a deep-voiced Southern drawl. "We don't get many visitors here, Mr. Wayne. I was just eating lunch. I hope you won't mind me gettin' back to it."

"Not at all, not at all."

"Yeah, Jerry, I was just gonna show him around." Erin said, and she noticed for the first time that her voice returned to its Carolina roots when she spoke with her colleague and friend. She wondered if Wayne had noticed. She tried to keep her voice in its normal, professional tone as she talked about her search for the antitoxin/anti-steroid combination that would work against Hound.

"I finally realized that a previously created antitoxin wouldn't work in combination, so I had to go looking for the toxin that would."

"The _toxin_?"

"Yes. You know, like poisonous snakebites are treated with an antitoxin made from the poison itself. Same idea."

"So you created a new antitoxin." _Does he sound impressed?_

"Well, almost. I'm not done yet – I still can't get it to work quite right with the anti-steroid. Though now it's just a matter of finding the right formula, the right chemical balance."

Wayne wandered over to her desk, where she had stacked papers and news clippings of Bane, and three spiral notebooks. He opened the one on top. The date read _January 3_, two weeks ago.

"That's my first notebook," Erin said from behind him. "The one I'm using now is over here," she said, walking to the lab counter and picking it up. She showed him yesterday's work – a list of twelve of the toxins she'd tried, and at the bottom, the last one was circled.

"But this isn't the only thing I do, you understand," she said carefully as he scanned the page. "I still work with the astronomers upstairs, and I do tours…"

"I think," he said, "that this needs to be priority. Don't you agree?"

She nodded.

"Hound is killing more people every night. The sooner we can stop him, the better." He looked at her intently. "How much work have you done on this? Is anyone else working with you?"

She shook her head. "It's just me and Jerry. My boss didn't think it would be a good idea for us to openly announce that we're working for the Batman, so the less people who know about it…"

A grim smile appeared on Wayne's face. "Would you mind working on this full time? I'll talk to your boss."

"Not at all. It should take only two more days to complete if I'm working only on it. Maybe less, if I get lucky." Erin calculated in her head, thinking, _I'll finish it tonight, probably, unless I'm going _completely _in the wrong direction…_

"Perfect." He glanced at his watch. "Three-fifty. I've got to run, meeting at four."

She told herself that she wasn't disappointed to see him go. "Okay. Glad you… glad I could show you around."

He said, "Aren't there about… let's see… eight more floors to inspect?"

She smiled. "Something like that."

"Raincheck?"

"Anytime."

He practically ran down the hall to the elevator, and she watched him from the doorway. _I will _not_ sigh_, she told herself. _He's _not_ that hot_. After the elevator doors closed, she turned around and went back inside the lab.

"Alright, Erin, let's finish this thing." Jerry said. "Young lady, you look like you been sunburned. You feelin' okay?"

"I'm fine, Jerry," she said shortly, ignoring his low chuckle. "Hand me two grad cylinders, would you?"


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Bruce Wayne got into the limo and realized he was still smiling as he checked his beeper and his cell. The cell suddenly rang, and he flipped it open. "Wayne," he said.

"This is Alfred, sir," came the cultured voice of his butler. "Lucius Fox just called, asking where you were. I grew a little worried, sir."

"It's nothing, Alfred, my tour of the WSF just ran late."

"Yes, sir. Dinner will be ready at eight."

"Great. I'll be home around six."

The meeting was dull but relatively short, a rough sketch of what the board members planned to do to help the new charity Bruce had begun for poverty-stricken prostitutes. It wasn't that he didn't care about the new fund – he did – but his mind was tight with worry over the Hound problem. He hoped Dr. Vinestradt could finish her work by tomorrow, and so he could obtain a sample and test it by tomorrow evening. Maybe he'd go check on her work after dinner – but no, he had that party at the Rocwers', and he had to at least make an appearance.

_Damn_, he thought. _I'll have to go in tomorrow morning. Maybe she'll be there_. He told himself it would be fine if there was just the technician, but… wouldn't it be best if _she_ were there, as the lead scientist on the research…

He shook his head. Just because she had a cute smile and pretty hair and a brain – more than most of his usual dates could boast – didn't mean he could start a relationship. If anything, it meant he should stay away.

The meeting ended, and Bruce walked to where Fox sat at the head of the table.

"Enlightening meeting, huh?" the older man asked. "Don't think I didn't see you staring off into space over there."

Bruce grinned. "Guilty as charged." He ran a hand through his hair. "I'm thinking about the _little_ _problem_ we're having. In the Narrows."

Fox nodded. "What do you need me to do?"

"There's a woman, Dr. Erin Vinestradt, who's working on it, but she's pressed to keep up with her old job of astrophysics at the same time. I told her she could drop the physics and work on the cure until it's done."

"Sure. I know her. Great kid, great mind."

"Kid?"

"I don't know, she must be only twenty-six, just finished college, with honors."

"And a Ph.D.," said Bruce, surprised.

Fox laughed. "Yeah. She'll get the cure done. By tonight, or earlier, if she gets lucky."

Bruce pondered this, and then what Erin herself had said – two days, not six hours. "Are you sure she can get it that quickly? She said she'd need two days."

Fox understood. "Caution. It's a scientist thing. She's brilliant, but she'll want to check over her work, sleep on it and whatnot."

_We don't have time to sleep on it_, Bruce thought, but he nodded anyway. _I'll just have to get away from that party as soon as possible tonight, and get back to the lab_. He checked his watch. Five-thirty.

He had to get back to the manor to work out and dress for the party. He made his exit quickly.

"See you, Lucius."

"Bye now. And Bruce," his friend called. "Be careful."

Bruce left wondering exactly how much his mentor knew about how he spent his time.

The new informant came slowly towards the makeshift throne. "Tell me what you know," said the deadly, dying voice.

Porter's eyes went everywhere but the throne – the ceiling, the floor, the guards brandishing long knives on either side of him. He couldn't help but stutter. "I – I uh – work as a janitor, at th-the Wayne building—"

"I don't care what you do for a living," mocked the voice. "_Tell me what I want to know._"

Porter's eyes went wide, and the dim lights shone off his perspiring, balding head. He spoke quickly. "Yes, y-yes, of course. I heard that the c – what the scientists are working on, th-that it'll be done in a two d-days."

There was silence, while Porter's eyes frantically tried to find a safe place to look. He felt like shutting them, but he didn't think that would go over well with the boss.

"Where are they making it?" the voice asked him.

"I dun- I don't—"

"_Worthless!_"

"In the building, sir! Somewheres, up high, maybe – the fifteenth floor, or something!" Porter desperately cried. "That's it, I remember now! The fifteenth floor!"

"What room?"

The man's face crumpled with fear and defeat, and he began to sob. "I don't know, sir, I don't know, I don't know. Just a jan—"

One of the knives flashed, and there was silence again. Porter bled from a red 'x' drawn on his throat.

Then: "Destroy that … _poison_. Make sure it's gone. Do it tonight." A sinister grin. "Kill whoever stands in your way. Leave no signs."

"Sir," the guardsmen answered, and left the throne room.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Erin didn't want to glance at the clock. She knew she could finish it soon – she was so close! – if she just didn't look up at the blinking digital-green readout. She rolled her shoulders and stood, trying to get the ache out of her muscles, before sitting down again on the stool and studying the figures in her notebook. _Only three more combos left to try_, she thought wearily. _Just three more_.

Jerry had left… hours ago, probably. The fluorine lights in the ceiling illuminated the room with light that seemed too bright. Erin prepared for the next experiment and yawned. Her eyes wandered to the clock.

Ten-forty-eight.

Erin groaned, passing a hand over her eyes. She really should get back to the apartment before Tim worried too much. But he hadn't come to see her today, and he _had_ promised. She could imagine his excuse – there was a meeting he'd forgotten, a holdup at the bank, bad traffic. Or a lovely new secretary working for his buddy down the street, Erin thought bitterly. She looked at the clock again, and with renewed determination, decided she could go for another hour, or until the cure was done, whichever came first.

She set up the test tubes and began to measure out chemicals.

Twenty minutes later, she had it.

Erin sighed with relief, peeling her rubber gloves off her sweaty hands. Her stomach was beginning to complain, though she had eaten dinner only four hours before. _Maybe I'll get some coffee_, she thought as she stored the solution in the fridge. _I need a latté. I'll still be home before midnight._

She slipped off her lab coat and hung her jacket on her arm. She searched around for her scattered papers and formulas for ten minutes before giving up and leaving the rest of the lost ones for a proper search the next morning. Closing her workbag, she headed for the door, turning off computers and lights as she went. Her keys jangled as she pulled them out of her jacket pocket. She walked out of the lab and shut the door, accidentally dropping the keys.

"Crap," she said, and bent down to pick them up.

It was then that she heard voices.

"What was that?" asked a fearful, high-pitched voice.

"Hush," growled a second, more sinister than the first.

"There's not supposed to be anyone here."

"If there is, what does it matter? They're dead anyway."

Erin left the keys on the floor and slowly stood up. The voices were coming from down the hall and around the corner, where the stairwell was. She quietly opened the door to the lab and went back inside, shutting it as silently as she could.

Hurriedly, frightened, she walked to the phone on her desk. There was no dial tone – the wires must have been cut. "_Dammit_!" she whispered, then glanced wide-eyed to the door. She couldn't hear anything. She opened her bag for her cell phone, and found it with low charge. She pressed 9-1-1.

"Hello?" said a man's voice. She thought she would melt with relief, but didn't waste time. She didn't know how much juice was left in her phone.

"Hi. I'm Dr. Erin Vinestradt and I'm at the Wayne Sciences Facility on Davisson Avenue and I think there are some killers… burglars or something here and I need help."

"Killers? How do you know, miss?"

"Listen, I just heard them talking and they were talking about everyone in the building, that we're gonna die soon and please, please send somebody over here." Her fingers were white where they gripped the small phone.

"And who is this?"

She tried to take a deep breath, but it sounded more like a whimper. "I already… Listen, I'm a doctor at the WSF and I need help! Are you listening? I don't have much time, I think something bad is going to happen here and I don't know what to do. I need some help!" Her panicked voice was getting louder and louder, so she suddenly hushed, listening for voices outside the door. The police officer was talking again, but she thought she heard something…

A shadow fell across the floor from the light coming through the window in the door. She snapped the phone shut and looked anxiously around for a place to hide – the storage cabinet. She ran to it, popped open the door and climbed in as the door to the lab opened. She had to leave the cabinet door cracked.

A man walked in, swinging her keys on his finger. She couldn't see him, but she heard his footsteps as he took a few steps around the front of the room. He flicked on the lights and called, "Hey there? Anyone home?"

Erin waited, sweat curling down her back beneath her shirt. She realized she was shaking and gripped the cell phone in her fist to stop it. _Please don't come this way_, she pleaded. _Please, just leave, go away, don't see me…_

"Come on," said an angry voice – the growling one – from the hall.

"But look, I found these keys and the door was unlocked…"

"What we want is on the fifteenth floor. If there's someone here… like the boss said, they're dead."

"Don't we gotta get outta here soon, too? Matthews was supposed to set the thing up by 'leven-fifteen."

"Duh, but we gotta get to the fifteenth floor first! C'mon, idiot, and leave those damn keys!"

The man in the room dropped the keys on a table and walked out without closing the lab door. Suddenly, Erin's cell phone vibrated in her hand, and she jumped. She covered her mouth with her hand and breathed slowly, hoping no one had heard her. It was the police department calling back, she saw when she opened her phone. She stepped cautiously out of the cabinet and crept to the door. Peering out into the hall, she saw no one, so she hit send and said, "This is Erin Vinestradt, is this the police?"

"Yes, ma'am. Did you just call three minutes ago?"

"Yes. The men are still here, and they seem to want something from the nanotech department. How fast can you get here?"

"Well, we can call Gordon's team and he can be there in, say, fifteen minutes."

"Fifteen – ! Is there no one else closer?"

"Sorry, miss, best we can do. Just try to get out of the building as soon as poss –"

BOOM.

Erin fell to the floor.

A sound like close thunder met her ears as the floor beneath her feet shook terribly. The phone flew out of her hand, hit the floor and shattered. Beakers and other equipment were falling off shelves and tables; papers were flying. Then another explosion shook the room, but this one was closer, and broke the windows in the door and in her office. Alarms began ringing and the sprinkler system came on as yet another blast rocked the building. Erin, on her knees, grasped the nearest table, pulled herself up, and went to the door. She ran down the hall and kept her hand on the wall to keep her balance on the rocking floor. When she got to the elevator she pressed the down-arrow without thinking about the fire hazard, but after waiting five seconds went to take the stairs anyway.

It was terrifying in the stairwell, as each new explosion echoed in her ears and made the closed-in walls heave as she pounded down the stairs. She screamed when she saw the level below her own was on fire, and she ran back upstairs. Many of the doors along the corridor were open and clouding the hall with smoke from the chemical fires within. Coughing, she ran back to her own lab, but it was also in flames. The sprinklers had shut off.

She waved her hands in front of her face in a useless attempt to clear the smoke. Suddenly she remembered that she should use a wet cloth over her mouth to keep from inhaling it, but she had no water. She ran to a lab door that was open but wasn't lit with fire – the thought of clean air made her dizzy with happiness.

The room was only a bit smoky and the floor was covered with broken glass. The two large windows on the back wall had broken with the heaving of the walls. The building seemed to sway as another BOOM reached her ears, and she feared the foundations might have been hit. The building could collapse. She could die.

"Oh, god. Dammit, dammit, _dammit_. Where are the damn police? Where's the fire department? I'm going to die. Holy shit, I'm gonna die," she said, running to the windows open to the night air. She took a deep breath, and it seemed to clear her head. She looked down the twelve stories at the tiny flashing red-and-blue lights – _the police had come_. Now how was she supposed to get down?

She looked over her shoulder at the flaming hallway. _Brilliant, Erin_, she thought to herself. _You're trapped_. She looked back out the window.

_No way, nuh-uh_.

She backed away from the window, then moved forward again to get out of the smoke. She could feel the fire's heat against her back, but when she turned, she saw it hadn't crept into the room yet. Yet. The word lingered in her brain, hazy from smoke and gases that should not be in her system. She made a quick, possibly stupid, decision, and grabbed the window siding, trying to avoid leftover glass, and swung her foot onto the sill.

There was a small ledge running around the building along the floor line of each storey. She lowered herself onto it and kept firm hold on the sill with her hands. There was just enough room to stand with her feet flat, and she wondered blearily if that was the ledge's purpose, as a fire escape. She blinked quickly, telling herself that if she blacked out now, she was as good as dead. Something cut her hand and she lifted it to see blood seeping from her palm.

Another explosion and the building swayed dangerously. She cried out and slammed her hand back onto the sill, holding on for her life.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Bruce Wayne straightened the jacket of his tux as he climbed the steps of the Rocwers' mansion. Two attendants stood at attention on either side of the double doors, and as he climbed they simultaneously reached out and opened the doors. Inside was a ballroom, where elegant and beautiful people mingled and swung each other to jazzy music played by a band in another room and amplified throughout the first floor. Bruce could see straight to the back door, which was stopped open to let the night air flow in and the people flow out to the gardens.

An elderly gentleman, stooped and smiling, hobbled to where Bruce stood and feebly shook his hand. "Hello there, young man! Come for the party?" he yelled, and Bruce noticed a hearing aid in his ear.

"Yes, sir," he answered loudly.

"Good, good! I'm Terence Rocwer. If you need anything," the man said in a stage whisper, "don't ask me! They tell me I've lost my mind." Terence Rocwer gave a wink and patted Bruce's hand. "My daughter, Sophia, and her husband, William, are the ones to ask. And my boy," Rocwer added, "If you want some wisdom from an ancient like me, there are about seven lovely ladies in the backyard, all of whom are looking for a good time and a handsome young man like you to spend it with!"

"Thank you, sir, I'm much obliged," said Bruce, smiling. The old man hobbled off to greet another guest, leaving Bruce to make his way through the throng of people on his own, looking for his hosts, Sophia and William Rocwer.

"Bruce!"

He turned, and saw a trio of finely dressed men younger than him grinning at each other and heading his way. "Hello! Fancy seeing you here," Bruce welcomed them.

"Same to you, old man."

"Hey, Wayne."

"Where've you been, Bruce? We could have used you last game."

"Sorry I couldn't make it, Sam," Bruce apologized. He did regret having to leave the three, who were on a polo team with him, hanging when an emergency had come up last Saturday. "There was some family business I had to take care of."

"Did you get it taken care of, old man?" This was Martin, the sharp-tongued young man with an aggressive attitude – which usually helped in tight spots on the field.

"I did."

Sam's face broke out in a smile. "So you'll be there tomorrow? Against Patrick Danner's team?"

"Of course," Bruce answered.

"Excellent!" the boys cried.

Bruce attached himself to their group as they wandered to the backyard, where they chatted and flirted with the models Terence Rocwer had mentioned. All four of them were rich, bachelor-heirs to some company or another. Sam, with his winning smile and his energy, soon had a girl on his arm, as did Quince, the youngest on the team. Bruce and Martin were left to trade good-natured insults with one another.

"I can never get a girl at these kinds of parties," said the younger man, waving his hand.

"You don't try. If you could keep your comments to yourself…"

"Who wants to do that? I think my conversation's rather stimulating, don't you agree? Don't answer that – of course you do. You, on the other hand, are forced to wallflower status because of your age, old man. You're hopeless, eh?"

Bruce laughed. "I'm only twenty-nine."

"That's almost thirty, which is almost forty…" said Martin, snickering.

"Did you meet Mr. Rocwer?"

"That old fool?" asked Martin fondly. "He greeted everybody."

"Well, I'm a fourth his age."

"Hell, no, _I'm_ a fourth of his age. You must be at least half."

"Get out of here and get us some drinks, youngster," said Bruce. He held up a hand. "Wait a moment – get _me_ a drink. You can't possibly be old enough to –"

"Alright, alright!" said Martin. He caught his eye on a tall, dark woman striding back inside and said, "I'll be right back with those drinks."

Bruce saw his gaze. "Take your time. And – try to save the sarcasm for the day you split up."

"Gotcha," said Martin, distracted.

Bruce shook his head and turned to face the dark lawn. The night was cloudy but the moon shone through the clouds out over the city, and Bruce, breathing deeply and closing his eyes, lifted his face to the peaceful light –

He froze. Tonight was a new moon.

His eyes opened. His brow furrowed. "Well, that's the end of my appearance," he muttered, and strode quickly around the house to where his car was waiting.

Minutes later, a solid black tumbler sped along the road toward the heart of Gotham City. There was a fire in the distance, and the Bat Signal still hung in the clouds.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Captain Gordon of the GCPD ran back downstairs from the roof and out into the street where his car was waiting to take him back to the burning building. He held his two-way radio to his ear as garbled shouts and reports came in from the crime scene. "What? Is there or is there not anyone left in the building, Sergeant?" he shouted to be heard.

"Sir… not inside… out the window…."

"What the hell? Get 'em down!"

"We can't get… fire… ladders… twelfth storey. The girl…" Sergeant Akerman's report fell into a hiss of static. Gordon cursed and drove faster, his lights flashing and his siren ringing. _There must be too many calls going through_, he mused. _Go figure. We've never had a hit this big outside the Narrows_.

As he quickly approached the science facility, he hoped Batman hurried. There were four spotlights trained on the girl, who was awkwardly standing on a ledge and holding onto a windowsill with one hand. He could see the building move back and forth a little, and his stomach turned. The area had been cleared of all citizens and vehicles except for the police cars, which was good. When this thing fell – and it was going to fall – there would be dust and debris along the entire street.

And unless Batman hurried, the girl would probably be dead.

_Another innocent life_, thought Gordon. He felt helpless. Everything depended on Batman coming in time, or on Batman knocking the bad guys around enough for the honest but weakest section of the police force to take them in.

He stepped out of his car and could hear the angry roar of the fires on the lower levels of the building. The girl, surprisingly, was not screaming. All of the officers were watching the building and yelling whenever the building moved, but Gordon turned his gaze to the rooftops surrounding it.

He smiled.

A black, caped figure glided, like an enormous bird-of-prey, from the north end of the road. It landed on the roof of a fifteen-storey department store on the right of the burning building, in sight of the police. Gordon saw guns raised.

"Hold your fire! HOLD IT! He's going to help her!" he shouted, waving his arms. When he heard no gunshots, he turned back to see what Batman would do.

He stood on the edge of the roof for a moment, then shot a grappling gun at the roof of the swaying building.

He jumped.

Gordon almost gasped. The caped figure went flying through the smoky night air, slamming into the wall and glancing off. Finding purchase for his feet, he came to a stop, holding his grappling gun and crouching horizontally, his feet on the wall.

Gordon wondered what the Dark Knight would do next. He was too high from the girl under the window to get to her. Gordon waited.

"Can you hear me?"

Erin looked up.

A demon looked back at her from above the window. She resisted the urge to scream, or throw up. Her right hand, which she held tightly to her chest to slow the bleeding, felt numb. She wondered how much blood she had lost. And now some dark angel was asking her if her hearing was okay. She nodded. She was tired of thinking.

_I must not fall asleep. I must not fall asleep_. The demon was speaking again, in that awful, raspy voice. _I must not fall asleep_.

"HEY!" it shouted.

"What?" she asked it.

"Are you hurt?"

She held up her hand, and then again grasped her already-blood-soaked shirt.

"Okay." She could see the whites of his eyes as they scanned the ground then met hers once more. "Don't panic, I'm going to get you out of here."

Erin wanted to laugh, or cry. _Don't panic, he said. Right. The building's going to collapse any minute, and I'm not supposed to panic?_

She looked down. _Mistake_. "How?" she asked.

He wasn't moving – he was like a stone statue, a… _what was it called?_ … a gargoyle. She wondered if he was just a hallucination.

"Do you trust me?" he said suddenly.

She gulped. _If I don't I'm dead anyway_, she decided.

"Yes."

"Okay. When I tell you to jump, jump. Did you hear me? Only when I tell you to, exactly when I tell you to, understand?"

She looked down again.

"Got it," she said, feeling strangely elated. _I'm going to jump to my death, or the Batman is going to save me. Holy shit, that's the Batman_. She stared at him.

"Ready?" he yelled, and she nodded.

Several things seemed to happen at once. The Batman let go of the grappling gun and started to fall towards her. He said, "Now," and she let go and fell back, at the same time that his stone-like arm wrapped around her waist. Her slit hand was crushed to her body, and she shrieked before biting her lip to stay quiet.

Then they were flying. She saw the police, openmouthed, below them as they passed. Relief engulfed her. She turned her head slightly to see the Batman's a few inches away. His eyes, the whites startling behind the black mask, flicked to hers. "Thank you," she whispered, and let blackness take her.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Erin awakened to a dark room. She was in an unfamiliar bed, and a dim blue light came from the clock on the table beside her. There was a window to her left, and a curtain along a rail near the ceiling hid her bed from the rest of the room. She guessed she was at the hospital, and tried to remember why. Had she slipped somewhere? At the lab, perhaps?

_The lab… the fire…_ Everything came back to her at once.

She groaned and shifted a little under the covers. Her bloody clothes must have been taken and thrown away, as she was dressed in a simple white gown and nothing else. She didn't want to look at her hand, but she tried closing it in a fist anyway. Severe pain coursed throughout her palm and fingers, and she sucked her breath in through her teeth.

"You're awake," whispered a rough voice from the open window. "I wouldn't try that again if I were you."

She watched the Batman as he gracefully climbed into the room. Questions buzzed across her mind, and she closed her eyes to create some order.

"How did you know which room I was in?" she croaked, her eyes still shut.

"Simple. I asked the lady at the desk."

She smiled weakly. "Dressed like that?"

He didn't laugh, but she felt his amusement across the tiny space. "I came for a special reason, Miss Vinestradt," he said softly. "Do you remember what you were working on at the lab when Hound's men came?"

She swallowed and nodded. "You need the antitoxin."

"As soon as possible."

"I'm sorry I…" she began, and cleared her throat, angry with herself. "It was lost, in the fire. I didn't go get it…"

"I know. But," he prodded, "do you remember any of it?"

She opened her eyes, suddenly fully awake, and looked at him. "Yeah. Get me a sheet of paper, and a pencil. I might not…" she coughed, "remember it in the morning."

He moved to the curtain and, pulling it back, disappeared. She heard the quiet rustle of moving papers, but his footsteps were inaudible. The black-gloved hand pushing back through the curtain scared her with its silent abruptness.

"Here," he said. She took the materials and quickly wrote down what she remembered of the formula, then played with it until it balanced and looked right.

"This is it," she said, handing him the paper and stifling a yawn.

"Thank you," he whispered in his gravel-voice, and looking straight at her said, "Get some rest." He seemed to vanish like smoke out the window, his cape trailing behind him and catching on nothing.

She fell asleep quickly, and stayed asleep until morning.

"Honey?" said a velvety voice. "Darling, wake up now. It's almost ten, Erin, honey. Please wake up."

Someone was holding her hand. For a single, irrational moment she thought – and hoped – that it was Bruce Wayne, and then recognition hit her like a freight train.

Timothy Chester, her fiancé.

She opened her eyes to his worried face, and he beamed. "Welcome back to the land of the living, honey. I love you," he cooed.

She slid her good hand out from between his and called for a nurse.

"I'll get whatever you –"

"Leave me alone, Tim," she said curtly. She blamed him for what happened last night. If he had come to see her as he had promised, she wouldn't have stayed so late at the lab, and she would not have been inside the building when it went up in flames. "Nurse?" she called.

"Honey, listen, I'm so sorry about Friday, I really am. Something came up and I –"

"Nurse?" she called desperately.

A man walked into her curtained room. He was well-muscled with a head of thick, blond hair and a wide smile. "Thank god," Erin murmured.

"Good morning, Ms. Vinestradt. I'm Dominic Guss, your doctor." He looked from her to Tim and back to her. "Is this man upsetting you? He said he was your fiancé."

"Yes, he is. Upsetting me, I mean." She paused. "And he is my fiancé," she added unwillingly.

"Darling, I –" Tim began, but Dr. Guss took him by the arm.

"I'm going to have to ask you to leave, sir."

Tim became irate. "Listen here, you, she's not well! She doesn't know what she's say—"

Dr. Guss pushed him roughly out of the room, and Erin hid a grin. "I'm sorry, sir, you'll have to come back later. Jenna, see this gentleman to the elevator, please." He came back inside the curtains and shut them briskly, then opened the window. Sunlight streamed in and fell across her bed. "How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Um…" Erin trailed off. "Bit of a headache, and uh… my hand feels stiff, and I don't want to try moving it."

He grinned. "Yes, that's probably not a good idea right now. Anything else? Have you tried sitting up this morning?"

"No."

He made her try, and she fell back to the pillows, sweating, her head swimming. "How do you feel now?" the doctor asked, gently probing the arm of her injured hand. His voice seemed to come from far away. "Uh…" said Erin again, feeling sick. "I'm a little dizzy." _That's odd_, she thought. _Last night I felt good as new when…_

_Batman_. Batman had come into her little hospital room so she could give him the formula. She sat up with renewed strength and asked her Dr. Guss if he had heard anything about Hound and the Batman after last night.

The doctor's eyebrows shot up as she lifted herself from the bed, her sickness gone and her eyes clear.

"No, I haven't gotten a chance to read the paper yet this morning." He gave her a funny look. "Do you know how long you've been asleep, Miss Vinestradt?"

"Uh, a day?" When he didn't answer, she amended, "…maybe two?"

He gave her a kindly, reassuring smile. "You've been out for six days, in a smoke-induced coma, produced by the burning chemicals in the fire, especially carbon monoxide. For the first day," he said gravely, "we thought we would lose you. But, you're on the mend now, so don't worry about the days you missed."

She looked around at the room, suddenly worried. What if the Batman's visit had been a dream, as she slept? "So, it's… next Thursday?" He nodded. "And I've been asleep the entire time?"

"Well, last night you came out of the coma, and were sleeping regularly, but yes, you haven't woken up until this morning, or Jenna would have noticed. Do you remember waking up?"

"No, I was just… surprised," she said calmly. "I've never been in a coma before." She laughed a little to hide her embarrassment. _I bet it was a dream_, she thought sadly. _No one will believe me anyway_.

"Miss Vinestradt, I have been asked to see if you are willing to see visitors. Dr. Lucius Fox is here to talk to you, and the police would like to ask some questions, for their reports. Only if you're up to it," he finished gently, patting her arm.

She knew Dr. Fox would want to hear about the antitoxin. She racked her brain but – nothing came up. _I don't remember, like I told Batman I wouldn't – except I didn't tell him. Because that was a dream_. She shook her head slightly, depressed.

"You don't want to see anyone?"

"Oh! No, I'd like to talk to Dr. Fox, please." _Might as well get this over with._

Fox walked in minutes later as Erin tried in vain to recall even the basic compounds she had come up with a week ago. "How are we doing this morning?" he began in his slow drawl. "You look the best you have all week."

"I bet," she said, and there was an uncomfortable pause. "Listen, Dr. Fox… I know what you're going to ask." 

"Oh?" 

"Yeah. And I'm sorry, but… I can't remember it." She stopped. "I'm really sorry," she said, softer. She stared down at her bedsheet, fiddling with the bandage on her right hand with the fingers of her left. She felt like a petulant child, and looked up at him, stilling her hands.

His caring gaze met hers, and he said, "That's all right. We've got another team of scientists working on it as we speak. None of this was your fault, and from what I hear, you nearly finished the work the night the facility was destroyed. Is that right?"

"Yes, sir," she said self-consciously. "I actually… um… I remember getting it done, sir. I just… can't remember…."

"How would you like to come back and work on it with a new team? They're expected to get it done in less than ten days, but if the doctor says it's okay, you could help them out a little. With your input I'm sure they could finish in three or four."

"Sure! Anything."

"Okay. Once this is all over, though, would you like to go back to the astrophysics department, or do you want to stick with biochem?"

Erin thought about it. She was good in both areas, she knew from college. But she had originally chosen astrophysics for her interest in the field. "I'd like to go back to my old job, if that's okay."

"Sure." His expression became curious. "How'd you get stuck in biochem, anyway?"

"Well… there were rumors…." She wondered if she should talk about this. _Heck with it_, she thought. _If Bruce Wayne authorized it, there's nothing Dr. Fox can do to me, right?_ She cleared her throat. "There were rumors that the work was for the Batman," she said, trying not to blush. "That's not the most reliable… not that he's, you know, bad, he's actually amazing… it's just that, so many people… for the public, it was… kept quiet. And random people were pulled for the job."

Fox gave her a stately nod. "I see." He walked to her bedside and touched her arm. "On behalf of the company, though, I want to thank you for the work you've done."

"You're not going to fire me, are you?" she asked him timidly.

He laughed, and she relaxed. "A bright girl like you? It'd hurt us more than you know." He winked. "See you at work tomorrow?"

"Yes, sir," she answered cheerfully.

Guss returned, followed by Captain Gordon of the Police Department, who asked her to detail as much as she could remember of the night of the fire. She did her best, and Gordon seemed particularly pleased with her memory of the one name, Matthews, that she caught when the two thugs were arguing outside her lab.

"We've got nothing else to go on," he said ruefully, looking down at his pad of notes from their interview. When he looked up at her, she was surprised to see real remorse in the officer's eyes. "I _am_ sorry we couldn't get to you sooner, Doctor."

She placed her good hand on his arm. "I know… you did everything you could. I'm just glad I'm alive," she offered with a tentative smile.

His was forced and he shook his head. "Thank you again." He slipped out from under her hand and she let it fall to the bed. _That's the first good cop I've seen in this city since I came here_. She wished she could help him fight the rottenness evident in the city's bureaucracy, to carry away some of the poor man's burden.

"If it hadn't been for Bats…" she heard him mumble as he walked away.

_Bats…?_ she wondered. _That's… new. Like he knows him personally…_


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Later that week, Erin walked into the lab where her partners were working after a brief meeting with her super, Morris. The formal dress she had put on for the dinner she was going to with Tim was constricting her chest and making her that much more frustrated.

"Look, all I know is, we've been taken off the job," Erin said roughly. "Not my fault, okay? Maybe they had another department do it, or something. Maybe they don't need it anymore."

"We would have noticed, would something in the papers…"

"Yeah, well. Think of your own excuses, 'cause _I_ don't have any."

The hem of Erin's violet dress brushed the clean floor as she exited the biochem lab door, never to return.

She went outside the hospital and climbed into Tim's car. "Ready, honey?" he asked her.

"As ready as I can be. You know I don't like your high-society prissy parties. I don't know why you make me go."

"You come because you love me, darling."

"Hmm." She kissed his proffered cheek and turned away to look out the window. There was an uncomfortable silence, during which Tim fidgeted, changing hands on the steering wheel and humming off-key.

"What was that all about, anyway?" he finally said.

"Well, Morris told me at lunch that the project I was working on was no longer necessary." She saw his quick glance her way. "I still have a job."

"Oh, good."

They rode on in silence. It wasn't a long way to City Hall, where the evening formal was being held for the opening of an anti-prostitution charity, largely funded by Wayne Enterprises. Erin was a little unsure as to how Tim had gotten invitations, as his explanation had been… less than satisfactory. _Probably because he got them from his latest girlfriend_, thought Erin, then stopped herself. She and Tim had fought when she got home from the hospital two days ago, and though they had tried to resolve some issues since then – mainly, his laziness and her cynicism – she had been afraid to confront her fiancé on his commitment problems. She was afraid that she was right, or more than right, about how he spent some of his late nights "at work". She liked being in love way too much to throw it away on a hunch or feeling.

_If I am in love_, she thought carelessly. Suddenly intrigued by the idea, Erin looked over at Tim. She waited for a whole minute before looking back out the window. She had felt nothing. Except, perhaps, a little disgust.

_Don't I love him?_ she asked herself. _I used to, I think. But now… there's nothing._

_Why am I even still with this guy?_

She put a hand on her forehead and moaned a little, and Tim said, "Are you feeling okay?"

"I'm fine," she said dully, but he didn't notice as they pulled up to the front of the elegant marble building lined with ionic columns. Her forehead felt hot and dry, and she had a tremendous urge to get out of the car and away from the man beside her. As soon as the car had stopped, she unbuckled and flung open the door, and ran up the steps to the double doors.

"Hey! Erin, wait!" cried Tim from behind her, but she only slowed to a fast walk and kept going, pushing open the door and letting it fall shut behind her.

She was led by an usher to another set of double doors as Tim burst inside. "Honey!" he said indignantly, and came to stand beside her. He handed the invitations to the usher, then rounded on her.

"What was that all about?"

"Nothing, dear," Erin said quickly. "Let's go."

She could feel Tim's unease with her as they walked in and their names were called. A few people turned to look at them and smile, but most continued their conversations and dancing as though nothing had happened. Tim's arm had seemed to clasp her to his side, and she couldn't pull away without making a scene.

"Let's dance," Tim told her, taking one of her hands in his and steering her to the dance floor. He pulled her close to him and they drifted in a stately and vaguely graceful manner, though his grip on her hand and her waist was too tight. _His possessiveness is _really_ ticking me off,_ she thought crossly, surreptitiously leaning away from him. The dance ended, and Erin joined thankfully in the applause. But she missed her chance to get away as Tim said, "Oh, let's do another. I never realized how wonderful a dancer you are."

"No, I'm really not that –" she tried to tell him, but the music had started again and he was holding her. She tried to relax – _It's been a bad day; I am going to marry him, after all_ – and placed her chin on his shoulder. His grip loosened slightly, and for four peaceful minutes, Erin was content with the world.

Until she realized her neck was getting cramped. Tim was a bit too short for her to comfortably keep her position, and so she drew away gently and stayed close.

"I love you," he whispered in her ear, and she smiled, warmed by his affection. She was sad when the dance ended.

A ripple went through the crowd – the next was a group dance: every man in the dance would get a turn with every woman. The dancers got in a loose circle, and Erin found herself a part of the women's line, Tim opposite her. She felt nervous – it was a waltz variation she'd never done before – but Tim looked happily at her as they moved forward and connected. She smiled back at him.

The dance began. _Step, step, turn, step, step,_ Erin thought, trying to keep up with the dance. All too suddenly, Tim was whirling her away to her next partner, and her nervousness nearly caused her to trip. But whoever-he-was took her hand and waist and gracefully turned her to the beat. He was a bit taller than Tim, she noticed, and well-built, with blond hair and stunning blue eyes. "I'm Sam Hinlow," he said. "You dance so well! I _must_ have your name."

"Erin Vinestradt," she answered, blushing at the attention. "Thank you, but I'm really not very experienced. I don't get to dance much."

"That doesn't seem to matter. You –" Here there was a pause as he spun her. "—You are marvelous." Mr. Hinlow grinned at her, then looked over to the next man. "Martin, you'd better keep your tongue in check. This one's light feet will really make you look foolish. Try to keep up!" He looked down at Erin, sending another brilliant smile from his tanned face. "Here you go!"

And she was sent into the man named Martin's arms. He had a dark complexion and a thin body, but his grace was like a cat's. White teeth glared from behind chocolate lips as he grinned. "Try to keep up?" he said tartly after their first few steps. "I'm just glad I'm not the only one who appears never to have learned the dance."

Erin threw her head back and laughed as he swung her. "That definitely makes two of us," she said. To her own amazement, she managed to stay on her own feet during their entire portion of the dance. And despite her new partner's claim to ignorance, he led her around and around as though he had years of experience. She very much felt that he was doing all the work. To her left, she could hear Mr. Hinlow call to them, "Don't you make the perfect couple! Look at them dance, Quince!"

Then, she was handed off again, to another, and another, and another, each a moneyed, graceful pair of feet, but all lackluster, asking her how she found the dance, telling her about their dull lives behind desks.

She had been stepping back and forth with a shuffling, white-haired CEO for what felt like an eternity when he passed her to the next man, a tall man with dark hair and a startlingly recognizable smile…

"Mr. Wayne!" she said incredulously.

"Dr. Vinestradt?" he marveled.

"It's Erin, please," she said automatically. "The party is lovely."

"Do you think so?" She nodded. "Sam was right," he said after spinning her. "You are an excellent dancer. Where did you take lessons?"

"No!" she exclaimed jokingly. "Not this again. When I was in college I joined the ballroom-dancing club for _one_ year. I haven't danced since, and _both _you and Mr. Hinlow keep insisting I'm doing this perfectly. Only that man Martin had the grace to acknowledge that I look like a hen on stilts trying to get this right."

Mr. Wayne laughed at her imagery. "Were those his words? I'll have to apologize for him, I guess."

"No, those were my own. And I know it's true, so don't try to flatter me," she said, tossing some hair out of her face with a twist of her head.

"Or distract you, as you seem so intent on getting the dance right anyway."

"Of course. Just because I have an excuse to make a fool of myself doesn't mean I should."

"Perhaps we should stop talking so you can focus." He moved closer so their bodies were touching as they danced in perfect time. She looked at him to find him watching her with those dark eyes. He spun her again, and she looked down to watch her dress blossom beneath her. Their eyes met. A shiver of heat wound down her back as she returned to his embrace. He pulled her close again and they patterned the steps across the floor, so close their faces could have touched. She found that she had unintentionally rested her cheek on his shoulder, and that the position felt good, like the mold of an old glove to the contours of her fingers. The hand not holding hers had surreptitiously moved to the small of her back, guiding her movements, and she had the strangest feeling of being protected by it. The heat she had felt earlier had spread throughout her entire body and now melted with his. Suddenly –

The song ended.

She abruptly stepped away from her dance partner. The three feet that had appeared between them could have been miles compared to the intimacy of the dance. She felt cold without him so close.

She shook her head to clear it. Where was Tim?

"Thank you, for the dance, Mr. Wayne," she said quickly and shot into the crowd of couples to look for her fiancé.

The sickness she had felt after getting out of the car before the party had returned. She felt flushed, and she hoped that she wasn't coming down with something. Or that there weren't any toxic gases still in her bloodstream from the ravaged WSF. She found Tim talking to another banker not far from where she was, and walked over to stand by him. _I'll just tell him I'm not feeling well, and we can go home._

Tim glanced at her as she approached, but ignored her as the other man went on and on about state taxes. Minutes passed, and Erin tried distracting herself with the music and watching the dancers on the dance floor. Nothing seemed to work – her sickness only got worse. She put her hand to her head again, but could feel no fever. _That's a good sign, I guess._

Finally, the other man was pulled away by an elderly lady, and Tim turned to Erin. "What?" he said irritably.

Taken aback, she didn't say anything for a moment. "Well, Tim, I'm not feeling all that well. In fact, I feel nauseous. Couldn't we go home now?"

"Right _now_? It's only seven-thirty. I can't leave, honey, that deal didn't go through, so I need to make two more deals tonight –"

"Oh, shut _up_," she told him angrily. "I don't care about your deals. I'm sick. Don't tell me you can't make them later. Besides, you don't want me throwing up all over your clients."

He scoffed at her. "You seem feisty enough to hold out for another hour or so. Just go dance, okay? I'm sure it'll pass." He put her arm through his and they began walking away from the circle of onlookers to their quarrel.

She kept her arm linked with Tim's for as long as she could stand the polite stares, then slipped away. "Fine. I think I'll go find us some drinks, okay?"

"Okay. You know how I like mine," he said, and winked as though they shared some sort of lovers' secret cocktail. "I'll be right here."

Erin rolled her eyes and melted into the crowd, wandering towards where she thought the bar was. She accidentally nudged a few people with her shoulder and trod on a few feet, but quickly excused herself and moved on. She didn't belong here, with the models and athletes and other people the public wanted to read about or see on TV. She wanted to be at home, with a good book and a heater by her feet. She realized she longed not for the apartment she shared with Tim, but her own apartment, for which she still paid half rent because her roommate couldn't pay it all. She hoped Susan had done all right on her own, since she had moved out.

Reality came abruptly back to her as she almost ran into someone's arm, nearly spilling the drink in its hand. The man, with apparently remarkable reflexes, had pulled his hand back just as he saw her. "Sorry," she said, putting on a smile and backing away.

"It's all right, no harm done," said the man. "Wait a moment. Erin? I wondered where you had gone after the dance!"

"Oh, I'd just gone to find my … escort, Mr. Wayne," she said. _I keep running into him! I guess it's not _that _unusual; it _is_ his party, after all._

"Please! Call me Bruce," he said, easily putting his arm around her shoulders to draw her to the table. "We're all on first-name basis here." He waved his hand to indicate those he had been sitting with. Erin watched the golden liquid in the champagne glass swirl around as it moved in his hand, entranced by the fact that none spilled over the rim. Her shoulders relaxed when he took his arm away, strangely resenting his intrusion on her space, when the dance hadn't bothered her at all. She could feel his eyes on her but kept hers averted, noticing that he was probably more than a little drunk.

A few at the table nodded blankly to her, and she nodded back, feeling the urge to run overtake her again. Her face was feverish. She heard Wayne explain how they had met at the lab, and as he told how it burned down and about her amazing rescue, and she felt herself heating up even more with embarrassment. _I need to lie down_, she thought. _I need a drink._

"So, Doctor, what are your views on the mysterious Bat-man?" asked a lady to her left. "As one who has seen him up close. Would you call him a maniac?"

"No…" Erin stuttered. "No, of course not. He saved my life." _Why would I think he was a maniac if he did that, huh?_ she wanted to ask the woman. "He just runs around saving people. What's so maniacal about that?"

"Well, most of us believe that he wouldn't hide his identity if his intentions were as … pure as you view them to be," said Wayne, looking at her.

"I for one don't want a nutcase like him running amok in _my_ neighborhood," said the man next to the elderly woman.

"But, he's doing so much good…" Erin tried to say, but another at the table had spoken over her, and no one heard. Putting a hand to her face, she realized she felt hot and was probably an uncommon shade of red. She couldn't stand being around all the stuffed shirts any longer, and fled back into the bustle of people, looking for Tim. _I want to go home, I want to go home_, she thought. _I just want to go home!_

She burst back out of the crowd to finally find the bar. She hurried up to the bartender and asked for a small glass of red wine. She downed it and felt slightly better, closing her eyes and rolling her shoulders, trying to relax. It was just a party. _Most of these people have to have their own shoelaces tied for them_. Her eyes opened. Hearing laughter and feeling like joining in, she thought, _I doubt any of them finished high school_. She turned toward the laughter, smiling.

Every single bit of her composure fell away at the sight before her.

Tim. With a beer in hand, surrounded by women, one of them hanging on his neck and kissing his cheek until he turned toward her for one on the lips. She obliged and all the women giggled. A few said, "Oooh, my turn!" in French accents.

In shock, Erin stood absolutely still, the half-smile glued to her face. She felt like stone, unmoving, not even breathing, until she realized she needed to. She took a shaky breath and choked on it. She felt tears starting in her eyes and ran.

_How could he? His _stupid_ deals… how could I have fallen for that?_

She was breathing hard, but not from exertion. A tear had started the journey down her face and several more followed. Her eyes felt thick with them, and she could hardly see. She found a door and pushed through it, then slipped through another door, and perhaps another – she easily became lost.

She was sobbing now. "Stop it, stop it, stop it!" she pleaded with herself. "You don't need him. All men are jerks."

She wandered until she found a large chair in a dark room, then curled up in it and cried.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Bruce understood something was wrong with Erin when she ran away from him, and had followed her as soon as he could get away from the snobs sitting at his table. He had only just found her at the bar when suddenly she ran again. He wondered for a moment if she was avoiding him when he saw the man at the bar, and, recalling their introduction, realized that this was the man she was running from – her escort, a banker named Timothy Chester. Disgusted by the sight before him, he turned away and tried yet again to follow her.

He spotted her shimmering amethyst dress and blonde hair intermittently throughout the crowd and then reached the opposite wall, which had two doors and an usher at each.

"Which one did she go through?" he barked at the men, forgetting to pretend he was tipsy.

The one on the left immediately opened his door, and Bruce moved on to a dimly lit and deserted hallway lined with offices. He stepped carefully and listened closely until he heard the click of a turning door handle. He walked quickly in the direction of the sound.

He found her in a dark, empty, cubicle-like office, sitting in an easy chair with her knees tucked beneath her chin and trying to mask the sound of her crying. He stood in the doorway and felt around for a light-switch when she saw him. "Who is it?" she asked wearily.

"Bruce Wayne. I couldn't help but notice – "

"You and probably the rest of the empty-heads out there. I know," she said curtly. She sniffed a little. "I have bad taste in men."

He found the switch but hesitated about turning it on, and instead walked over to where she was and sat on her chair's armrest.

"Do you mind? I'm kind of in the middle of a private pity party," she said. He laughed. In the poor light from the hall he could see her smile. "What are you laughing at?" she asked, indignant.

"Am I invited to your party?"

"Oh, no one wants to come to my parties, like they do to yours."

"I'd like to come."

He could feel her gaze on his face. "I don't think so. You seem intent on crashing it. It is a _pity_ party, you know."

"What if I promise to pity you? Would you like that?"

She sighed. "No, probably not."

"Good."

She shifted a little. "I didn't mean to crash _your_ party, Mr. Wayne."

"Please. I meant it back there when I said call me Bruce. And don't worry, you didn't crash my party. It would take a lot more than one upset young woman to stop the action going on back there." He stopped suddenly, and she stiffened in the chair.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to – "

"It's okay," she said woodenly. She let her shoulders fall and slumped back into the chair, covering her face with her hand. She wiped under her eyes with her fingers but did not start sobbing again. "I should have… I shouldn't have expected him to be, you know, to behave himself."

"This has happened before?"

"Well, I don't have proof, just a… just a hunch. You don't want to hear about my love life, though." She suddenly stood and, after delicately wiping her face, straightened her dress. "I'll just go, okay? And you can get back to your –"

"Darling!"

"Oh, no," Bruce heard Erin whisper. "I've got to go –"

"Here you are!" cried her fiancé as he appeared in the doorway. "What are you doing alone in the dark? Never mind. Honey, what you saw –"

"For the last time, shut up, Tim, and get out of my way. I'm going home."

"Listen, here, you don't have the full story," he said sharply, grasping her arm as she tried to pass him. Bruce stepped forward involuntarily as she tore her arm out of his hand.

"Get _out_ of my _way_." Her voice was low and angry, and Bruce felt approval wash over him.

Tim laughed a little, staring at Bruce. "Who's this, darling?" His eyes were malicious as they turned back to her. "How about _we_ make a deal, huh? I don't talk, you don't talk, got it?"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

He nodded in Bruce's direction. "Your little love affair, going on behind my back."

Erin turned to Bruce and laughed harshly. "You think I'm seeing him?" she asked Tim. "There's nothing between us. You're imagining things. Just because _you_ are in the midst of multiple affairs does not mean _I_ am." She pushed his chest for emphasis and managed to get out into the hall.

"What am I supposed to think, huh?" Tim asked venomously. "I find you two, away from the party, in a dark room…"

She whirled on him and said nothing, merely glared. Her hands went together as she walked toward him. He shrunk back a little, but she only grabbed his wrist and put something in his hand.

"Good-bye, Tim. I'll move my stuff out tomorrow, and then you never have to see me again. No strings attached. Just like you've always wanted."

And she marched away.

"Fuck you," Tim said, throwing the ring on the ground. "You can't do this to me! I'll tell everyone, you and –"

Bruce had come up behind him and put a hand on his shoulder, which made him jump. He spun him violently around and kept his hand where it was. The man was easily intimidated – he was practically quivering as he stared at him. "Are you listening to me?" said Bruce quietly. The man nodded quickly. "Nothing happened in that office except your ex crying, and proving to me that you are a son-of-a-bitch. And, you can tell whatever lies you want, but I'll know about them, and it'll be my word against yours."

The coward suddenly showed courage from somewhere, and straightened his back. "You stay out of this, whoever you are."

"That's Mr. Wayne, to you." Bruce easily pushed the man back, and he stumbled, in shock.

"Wayne? _Wayne_ –"

Bruce ignored him, and his eyes found Erin's, who had stopped ten feet away and was watching the scene between the two men. He swept past Tim and reached her, but didn't touch her and didn't get too close. "You don't have to leave," he said gently, hating himself for wanting her to stay.

"Oh please. Like I can go back into that room – I'm sure I'm a mess, and with everyone staring… No, I'll go home, like I said."

"It's only eight."

She looked uncomfortable. "I… don't belong at parties like these. I shouldn't have come at all tonight."

Bruce threw a look over his shoulder at Tim, who was quickly making his escape, back towards the ballroom. "It wasn't all that bad, I hope."

"No," she said, smiling a little. "It wasn't all bad." She was looking at him, but looked away before he could meet her gaze. "But I want to get home."

"At least let me give you a ride."

She shook her head, but the smile was still there. "I've ruined your reputation enough for one night." She looked at him again, her eyes serious. "I am sorry about all of this."

"You shouldn't be. After all," he halted. "… well, I don't know if you remember reading about this in the paper, but… there was a time last year when I was… let's say, going through some hard times." He chuckled in embarrassment. "I ended up getting drunk and burning down my house."

She laughed, then quickly smothered it. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…"

He laughed too. "No, it's all right. You know what they say about laughter…"

"Closest distance between two people?"

Her blue eyes captivated him. "Yes."

They stood in awkward silence for a moment until she said, "I really should go."

He nodded.

"Thank you for helping me… and you know…"

"Yes," he said again. "And thank _you_. You were the best dancer out there tonight."

"There you go again," she laughed. "Thanks."

He held out his hand and she gingerly took it with her own, still-bandaged one, then smiled and left. He stood in the hall alone for a moment, thinking and scolding himself. The evening had been a disaster. He should not have gotten involved. He should have stayed distantly sympathizing, or uncaring, like the other well-to-do people in the ballroom. And now he was feeling more than he should be. He was feeling like he had with Rachel, before she gave up on him. He was feeling…

He shook his head to stop the thought and quickly returned to the party.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

"Garridge's Apartments, please," Erin said as she got into the taxi. "Number twenty-six."

"Twenty bucks."

She handed him the bills and they drove off. The tears were still coming, and she tried keeping her hiccoughs quiet so the cabdriver wouldn't hear her. She felt exhausted and she knew her eyes were red by the time the ride ended.

He dropped her off at the front of the complex and sped away. Realizing she had to walk half a mile in three-inch-heels, she kicked them off and began to walk on the cold concrete in bare feet. She finally got to her building, feeling pleasantly refreshed from the walk and the cold, and climbed the stairs to the second floor, banging on the door for Room 2614. "Susan!" she called. "I know you're in there, so just let me in!"

"What?!" came the muffled response. "Who is this?"

"It's me, Erin! Let me in!"

The door opened, and her roommate looked at her sleepily. "Whatcha doin' here, girl? And dressed like that?"

"I dumped Tim," said Erin simply.

Susan looked her over through half-lidded eyes. "I wondered you were gonna come to your senses and drop that sonofabitch like the deadweight that he is. Come on in. Mi casa es tu casa. Especially since you're paying for it."

They entered and a sleepy male voice came from one of the bedrooms. Erin raised an eyebrow at her friend, who calmly explained that her boyfriend, George, was staying the night.

"Oh. Do I have a room?" she asked.

Susan grinned mischievously. "We haven't touched your room."

Knowing there were only two bedrooms in the apartment, Erin grinned back. "I see," she said.

"Yeah." Susan stretched. "No offense, though, it was great having the place to myself."

"Sorry."

"Not your fault. I knew it couldn't last. You and Tim, I mean. In fact, Tim and _anybody_ shouldn't have lasted that long. That guy has issues. You're too nice."

"Hm."

"So," said Susan, pulling champagne glasses from a cupboard above the sink, "to what do we owe the separation? You catch him kissing another girl?"

Erin was silent, and Susan knew she had hit the nail on the head. She poured the champagne and dropped the subject. "How's work coming?"

Erin was prompted into a series of laboratory experiment stories, and then told of her miraculous escape from the WSF two weeks prior. Susan, the perfect audience though she had read the story in the paper, gasped at exactly the right moments, and laughed victoriously when Erin reached the part about Batman.

"I've heard he's _super_ sexy. Kicking bad-guy ass must make for a great swimsuit season, or something like that. And he saved you? What did he look like?"

Erin was grinning like a thirteen-year-old talking about her first crush. "We flew – "

"What?!"

"We were on the side of the building, remember? So we jumped, he caught me, and we flew…"

Susan's eyes were huge. "He can _fly_?"

"Well," said Erin, spreading her arms out like wings. "He's got these sort of, parachute things. Attached to his back. It's his cape, I think, but I don't know how it works."

"Susan, oh. Hello," said a British voice behind her.

"George, Erin Vinestradt. Erin, meet my lover." Susan said as introduction, a saucy smile on her face.

The blond young man, wearing a flannel shirt and baggy jeans, bowed low. "At your service, m'lady Erin," he said with a stunning accent. "Now, my queen," he said, striding over to Susan and standing behind her. "You and I have some unfinished affairs to set in order…" He kissed her hand sweetly and pulled her into him, and they kissed tenderly on the lips. Erin looked down and fingered her nearly-empty champagne glass. Susan suddenly broke the kiss. "Go back to the room, you twit, or watch some TV. We need some girl-time." George sighed but kissed her again. "Go!" she said, pushing him away laughingly. He went over to the couch and, falling on it, flipped on the TV, appearing to sulk.

"You'll have to excuse him," said Susan. "He's a little crazy. He's into ballet."

"That explains the nice ass," Erin said, and Susan winked.

"Yep. I sure know how to pick 'em, eh?" When Erin didn't respond, Susan realized she was in dangerous waters again and moved away. "So then what happened?" she asked.

"When?"

"After you flew! With Batman!"

"Right!" she said, her eyes lighting up, and she proceeded to tell Susan how she fainted and woke up in the hospital six days later.

"And the night before, he leapt into my hospital room without making a sound. He's so …powerful, it's frightening, almost. But he was so kind, and he just wanted the formula. It's like he knew exactly when I was going to wake up."

"You gave him the formula? I thought you said you couldn't remember it!"

"I can't remember it now," said Erin uncertainly. She was worried her friend might think that her memory of Batman's visit to the hospital was just a dream. "But I remembered it that night, and I wrote it down. Have you seen anything in the paper about it? About Hound?"

"No, nothing."

They pondered in silence for a while, and Erin felt that Susan was about to ask her if she was _absolutely certain_ that it _actually happened_, and she really didn't want to hear it.

"That's odd, really," said Susan. "There's been _nothing_ about Hound in the paper. Like he's –"

Erin sat up hopefully. "Oh, my god. Like he's disappeared? Or – "

"Or been taken down! You go, girl!" cried Susan, high-fiving her. "But," she said, serious. "That still leaves one mystery."

Erin frowned. "What?"

"How _did_ Batman know you were awake?" Erin raised her eyebrows. Then she caught her friend's twinkling eye.

"What?" she asked again.

"I figure he must have been waiting for you to wake up. He must have been watching over you, just outside the window, until you did. How's that for tragically romantic?"

Erin's cheekbones turned a bright shade of pink. "He just wanted the formula," she protested. "He wasn't actually waiting for _me_."

"Riiiiight." Susan sat back on the barstool. "I think our resident superhero has a fling, personally. And it's you."

"George isn't the only crazy one in this apartment, you know that?"

"Just stating the obvious."

"Whatever." They sipped their champagne, and Susan noted with satisfaction that Erin was smiling and staring off into space dreamily – rather like a girl in love. She is so over that jerk, she thought.

"Hey, wanna do something?" she asked.

"Like, get outta this dress?" Erin responded, tugging at the tight cloth.

"Yeah. And a day at the spa."

"Oooh. That sounds wonderful."

"How about tomorrow? My treat."

Erin looked at her gratefully. "Thanks."

"Sure, hon. Go ahead and take a shower, we won't need it 'til morning. Towels and toothbrushes under the sink."

Erin set her empty glass by the sink to wash later and trotted off to the bathroom. Susan went and sat by her boyfriend on the couch. He kissed the dark hair on top of her head. "What happened to your friend?"

"Her fiancé is a double-crossing, hateful moron. Cheater. And ex-fiancé at this point."

"How awful. What can we do?"

"Just," Susan began, and trailed off. "Maybe, lay off the PDA for a few days, and then we'll see how she handles it."

"Are you kicking me out?" he mumbled into her hair, his accent softly alluring.

"No. You can kiss me all you want when she's not looking. In fact," she added sleepily, her head falling on his shoulder and his arms coming around her, "I expect you to."

"Now?" he asked, chuckling.

"No. Just hold me." She snuggled into his chest. "And never leave."


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

The next few days were relatively easy ones for Erin – the first day, she spent five hours at the spa with Susan while George generously cleared out of their apartment and picked up most of her stuff from Tim's, who was "out of town." She recovered most of her dignity by reassuring herself that her old college friends either didn't care or were glad she had broken off her engagement, which was absolutely true, according to Susan. On the third night after the break-up, Erin was feeling perky and ready to go back to work.

"But we were all gonna go to a club for pizza and dancing tonight!" said Susan when Erin told her. "Can't you wait two more days? We haven't had _nearly_ enough fun."

Erin laughed and said perhaps work could wait for her. "Who all's going?"

"Everybody. So you had better come."

"Fine! I'll go."

Erin had more fun at the party than she thought she would. Three very nice young strangers came by asking for a dance with her. Flattered but wary, she stayed well away from the men, and had a blast singing karaoke with her friend Leah, who was studying to be a part of Doctors Without Borders. Impressed with her voice, George and Susan called for her to get up onstage over and over. She was hoarse after the fifth song by Queen and sat down beside them.

"This is great!" she yelled over the music.

"What?!" Susan yelled back.

"This is great!"

"What?!"

Erin laughed and stole a slice of pizza from the center of the table. Susan was sitting in George's lap, cuddling, but Erin realized she didn't care. She was happy for her friend – George was a thoughtful, kind guy, if a little spontaneous. She found herself musing about the two getting married, and liked the picture they made. She smiled. _I wonder if Susan would make me a bridesmaid, _she thought_. I wonder what color dress she'd wear. I wonder if George has the nerve to propose. I wonder if Susan would say yes. I hope she would. I wish I had a guy like George…_

Susan saw her staring at them absentmindedly. The girl was relaxed in her chair, chewing a bite of the pizza in her hand, so she decided she was okay. "What are you thinking?" she asked.

"Nothing."

"You look like you're in love. Somebody I don't know about?"

Erin smiled, but there was a pink tint to her face. "Can we talk later?"

Susan nodded.

After the party, the girls made George leave for the night. He protested on the way out, but lost the argument. Susan was intent on painting Erin's nails – all twenty of them – a glamorously bright red. When she brought out the bottle, Erin was reminded strongly of a stop sign, and said as much. The two laughed and talked about nothings for over an hour as their nails dried, then stuck _Chocolat_ in the DVD player. It was one o'clock in the morning.

They both sat on the couch and passed the bag of Dove chocolates between them as they watched. Occasionally they would pause the movie and talk about guys. Susan mentioned the boys who had asked Erin to dance, and they ranked them on cuteness, hotness, and sex appeal.

"You've got to admit, though, his voice gives him at least a seven out of ten."

"The third one? Are you kidding? It was all high-pitched and girly."

"Yeah, he must be an awesome tenor, huh?"

"Tenor? Real men aren't tenors. Real men are baritones."

"George is a tenor," said Susan indignantly.

"Who said George was a real man? He does _ballet_," replied Erin, unfazed until Susan's pillow connected with her head. She screeched and knocked the bag of chocolate to the ground. Her pillow was behind her back, unreachable, so she ducked her head behind her hands and laughed as Susan walloped her with her pillow and yelled, "Take it back! Take it back!"

"Okay, geez! I take it back!" she shouted. The attack disappeared as Susan pretended to still be wounded by the statement about her boyfriend and hugged her pillow. Erin slyly managed to pull out her own pillow and quickly smacked her friend with it, and the battle was on. It raged throughout the apartment for approximately twenty minutes, at which point Susan fell back on the couch, exhausted. Erin sat down on the floor and ate a chocolate. "Would you marry him, if he asked you to?" she said around a mouthful.

Susan looked thoughtful. "Maybe. Well… yeah, sure. I guess, maybe. It depends."

"I'm glad you're so decisive, Susan, or I'd have a real hard time knowing what you want."

"I don't know, okay?" Susan said.

"What if he asked you tomorrow?"

"I'd say… I don't know! He won't ask me tomorrow, anyway."

She pressed the play button again. Johnny Depp appeared onscreen, and the two girls watched rapturously as he played the guitar.

"He is so sexy" was all Erin could say.

Susan smirked. "He's a tenor."

"Shut up. He's the only guy who can be a tenor and be so not-girly."

"Who do you know that _isn't_ a tenor and is sexy?"

Erin blushed a little, and the movie paused again. "Who?" demanded Susan immediately. "Who?!"

"Didn't I tell you?"

"Apparently not, so make with the telling, girlfriend!"

"Bruce Wayne."

"No way." Susan paused. "Wait. You told me this. You gave him a tour. So what?"

"There… might be more."

"_What_? Do tell!"

"The night… the night Tim and I broke up." The two friends had not broached the subject of the break-up, one out of embarrassment, and the other out of compassion for her friend's feelings. "We danced. And later, when I was upset, he… sort of… comforted me?"

"You. Are. Joking."

Erin shook her head, blushing crimson and burying her face in her pillow. Susan stared at her in openmouthed shock.

"You are so fucking lucky. Batman, now Bruce Wayne? This is too fucking much. Somebody should write a fucking book."

Erin laughed loudly. "About me?"

"I'm fucking not kidding."

"Oh, please, take me seriously, Susan. All he did was make me smile, then got rid of Tim for me. It was just so me and my love life wouldn't get in the way of him throwing a great party, okay? There's nothing between me and Wayne. And will you drop the Batman thing?"

"No." Susan threw her pillow at her. "Lucky."

"Turn the movie back on," said Erin, throwing the pillow back.

With ten minutes left in the movie they both decided they wanted smoothies, so they got out the blender and ice and yogurt and tons of fruit they found in the fridge. They joked and danced a little, then finished the movie and awoke at eleven the next morning, Susan on the couch and Erin curled up around pillows on the floor.

Erin didn't bring up the situation with Wayne at all after the night before, afraid her friend was suffering from jealousy. _I can hardly see what there is to be jealous about_, she thought. _I had to be rescued twice, that's all. Once from a burning building and the second time from my own mistake._

_I'm regular damsel in distress_, she thought sourly. _And now Susan thinks I have two knights-in-shining-armor. The armor would fit Wayne_, she decided, _with his cover-of-a-magazine smile, but Batman should keep the black, definitely._

George walked in and he and Susan began to make toast for the three of them as Erin tried to clean up the living room. She heard the couple talking quietly and she hoped it wasn't about her. They all sat down at the table.

"Listen, Erin," said Susan. "George and I were planning on going out tonight. If that's all right."

Erin let a wicked smile creep on her face so that only Susan could see it. "Sure. That's _fine_. Brilliant, even. Please, take your time." She shrugged her shoulders as Susan kicked her under the table. It was okay, because Susan was smiling too. "I'm gonna try to sleep, and go back to work tomorrow."

"Great!" said George, looking at Susan brightly.

After their brunch, Erin went for a walk around the complex. It was cold; the wind cut through her windbreaker and chilled her, so she kept her walk short. When she got back, Susan excitedly told her that they were going ice skating together, alone, isn't it romantic? And Erin grinned and said, "Don't come back until he's proposed," and Susan smiled demurely and blushed.

The pair had left by four-o'clock, and Erin called one of her old lab partners in the astrophysics department for details on their last experiment so she could prepare for tomorrow. She got on the internet for three hours, made herself a sandwich, and was in bed, fast asleep, by eight.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

A menacing shadow hung atop a dilapidated cathedral in the heart of the Narrows. As there were no innocent passersby, it refused to spend the effort of concealing itself and keeping its good view at the same time. The few passersby that made the mistake of entering the street below him were first, anything but innocent; and second, would rather stay out of his way than confront him.

"Where are you?" growled Batman. He gazed across the desolate buildings, lit by the city's lights and punctuated with the sounds of car horns, even this late at night.

He was worried. Fox knew it, Alfred knew it, Gordon knew it. Hound had disappeared on the eve of what should have been his downfall. _Why_? Batman asked himself. _Why would he hide when he thought he had won? It was he who burned down the Science Facility, with the express desire of destroying the antitoxin_. He burned the building, and no one except Fox, Gordon, Alfred, and he, Batman, knew that the antitoxin still existed.

_And Erin…_ whispered his mind.

He immediately swung down the cathedral's wall, covered with Gothic handholds and footholds, to the street where the Batmobile waited, and climbed in quickly. His tumbler zoomed silently through the streets of the Narrows until it came upon a mugging. _She can handle herself for a little while longer_, thought Batman, leaping out of the vehicle and climbing up the nearby brick building to drop down on the criminals without warning. _She'll be fine._

He quickly dispatched the three thugs to some policemen working for Gordon and returned to his car.

Left, right, right again – _oh, no_. A gunman, or two, raping a young girl –

Fury could have blinded him and bile would have risen in his throat, but years of training kept him calm and collected as he got out of the car and moved through the shadows towards the men.

"Get away from her," he snarled when he was close enough to reach out and touch one man's back. That one dropped his gun, and the other, in the midst of pulling off the screaming girl's blouse, turned around in fright. _Good_, thought Batman. _Fear me_.

A fast punch to the bridge of the nose – _hope I broke it_, Batman thought – and the first was out cold. The other had turned away from the girl and raised his gun, but a black fist easily knocked it out of his hand. It went off as it bounced along the ground, and the girl screamed again.

The standing man was blubbering. "Oh, shit, oh shit!" He tried to run, but Batman overtook him and knocked him out with a sharp blow to his temple.

The girl was breathing hard and hiccupping, trying to rebutton her shirt. Batman walked carefully over to her and said, "Did they hurt you at all?"

"Mm-hmm," she said, nodding, and he saw the cut above her left eye.

"Why are you out here alone?"

She threw a look over her shoulder as though trying to evade his gaze. "I work here."

"What's your name?"

"Look, I don't need charity, okay?" she said sulkily, now repacking the contents of her purse. He saw a few condoms and a lot of lipstick disappear into the black handbag. "'Sides, my mom says I shouldn't talk to strangers."

"Does your mom like you staying out this late at night?"

"I told you, I have to work." She was angry now, ready to get away from him. Ready to get back to her job – he wasn't going to be a customer.

"I know a place that could help you and your mom out. So you don't have to… work," he said patiently.

"I don't need – "

"Just think about it," he said, handing her the contact card for the new prostitute correction fund. He walked away from her and vanished into the shadows, calling Gordon's team as he went.

"Yeah?" said the police captain. Batman heard the girl begin to walk quickly down the street the other way, and turned to watch her. She entered a rundown apartment building – not a whorehouse – and he felt pleased.

"There's two men in an alley on the west side of Clerk Avenue who need to be picked up," he said into the phone.

He heard Gordon sigh. "What are they down for?"

"Attempted rape."

"The girl okay?"

His mind snapped to Erin, but he said, "She's fine."

"Be there in fifteen."

Batman looked at the unconscious men. An arm stirred, then stilled. "Better make it five, Captain."

Another sigh. "Gotcha. Gordon out."

The tumbler moved swiftly around the corner, heading towards the north bridge out of the Narrows. Batman tried to keep his eyes searching for trouble, but they kept looking inward. _I shouldn't be leaving the Narrows,_ he thought. _This is where the action is. This _is_ where Hound is hiding. If there were another attack on the outer limits of the city, I'd know before anyone else. So why am I still driving?_

_I should be cruising the rooftops, listening, getting into the pocket. _Feeling_ where the trouble spots are. I shouldn't be turning my back, driving away, for one girl. So_ why _am I still driving?_

He mentally cursed himself and stopped the car. He sat in the driver's seat for a moment, unsure of himself, then spun the car around and drove back into the city's rotting heart, where he was needed most.

He tried not to think about her the rest of the night.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

_Another week,_ thought Erin exhaustedly that Saturday afternoon, _and the grant is gone_. She had just gotten home from a solid thirty-two hours of muddling her way through quantum equations, and her brain felt like cranberry sauce.

She had no sooner collapsed on the couch than the phone rang.

"Arrgh!" she said, rolling over and picking it up. "Hello?"

"Dr. Vinestradt?"

"Yeah – yes, this is she. Who is this?"

"This is Dr. Fox. I was wondering if you would be willing to do a tour or two tomorrow, if you're not busy."

_It's a Sunday!_ thought Erin incredulously. _Has he never heard of sleep?_ "I'm free," she sighed.

"Good. Good. See you tomorrow, then."

"'Bye."

Click.

_He's got to be kidding,_ she thought, staring at the phone. She passed a hand over her eyes and lay back down. Yawning, she stretched out her socked feet, thinking, _I'll think about it tomorrow_.

"I hate Sundays," said Ruth from the front desk as Erin walked into the temporary Wayne Science building, an old facility on the corner of Seventeenth and Trellis, the next morning. Erin gave her a quick "G'morning" and made her way to the elevator.

"Hey, Dr. Vinestradt," called Ruth. "Don't you want your tour schedule?"

Erin turned around. "Right. I almost –"

"Hey, it's so short, I'll just tell you," Ruth laughed in a way that wasn't mean-spirited, but put Erin on edge anyway. "Look here. Ten-o'clock, Mr. _Bruce_ _Wayne_." Her eyebrows went up knowingly as she stared over at Erin, who was trying to keep a calm façade.

"Is that all?"

"Yes, Doctor. Want me to give you a call when he gets here?"

_Why is she looking at me funny?_ thought Erin. _She doesn't think that I – and Wayne – we're not – together, no of course not. That's silly_. She frowned at her. "You know, if you keep your eyebrows raised like that for too long, your face'll stick that way.

Ruth snickered a little, but said, "Okay, I'll give you a ring."

She walked back to the open elevator doors and stepped inside. She hit the button for the seventh floor and waited for the doors to close and the elevator to begin rising. The little jolt at the beginning of the ride up took her by surprise, but she steadied herself and could feel the familiar tug of inertia in her gut try to pull her down to earth. The glowing numbers above the elevator door read '6' when Erin's cell phone buzzed in her bag.

"He's here, Doctor," said Ruth from the other end.

Erin checked her watch. "It's been three minutes!"

"Yes, he just walked in. He said he could wait, but I thought I'd call you anyway." A pause, then, "He is _fine_."

"Ruth!"

"Sorry, Doctor." They hung up. When the doors opened to reveal the seventh floor, Erin just hit the buttons to close the doors and for the lobby, and waited for the machine to carry her back down.

He hadn't been sitting down in the waiting area for more than a minute when Erin – _Dr. Vinestradt,_ he corrected – left the elevator. Her hand extended, she said brightly, "We meet again, Mr. Wayne."

He shook her hand and smiled back. A healthy flush had risen in her cheeks; she looked as she had when they had danced. "How are you?" he asked in reply.

"Fine." She was staring at him, and then turned her head to look at the magazines on the small table. "Well, shall we get started?"

"I'd love to."

"Let's see. We left off in biochem, which was level twelve, but that's all changed now," she said, tucking her hair behind her ear. "We may have to jump around."

"That's fine." Her eyes were an intoxicatingly clear blue, as though they were made of stained glass, obscuring the mind behind them. They stood awkwardly for a moment – was she waiting for him to say something else? – before moving to the elevator. The stiffness fell away and their steps matched.

"We'll start in the nanotech department," she said with her back to him as they waited. His eyes were roaming around her back, about her hair, which was done up in a large clip and kind of coming out of it, so that she had some fall to either side of her face. He moved his gaze to the buttons beside the door. _This is _not_ why I came, _he scolded. _I shouldn't have come at all. I just had to make sure…_

She was saying something. "…been hard without it. But they've gotten along just fine."

_Without what?_ he wondered, and forced himself to pay attention.

"Otherwise, these facilities are exactly like the old. I guess we have you to thank for that." The elevator arrived and they moved to go through the doors at the same time.

"Please, go ahead," he said.

"Thanks," she said without looking at him.

Once inside, he managed to catch her eye and send a smile, which she returned brilliantly. The elevator door dinged, and they stepped out.

The tour passed comfortably after that, and they fell into a habit of finishing one another's sentences. When they entered the top floor, the astrophysics center and observatory, she took his hand and pulled him over to the viewing room. His entire arm responded to her touch, and he hoped she didn't notice his flinch. "You can never see anything in this city at night," she complained. "The smog and light pollution are so awful. But we've got a telescope, a bit like the Hubble, up above us – did you know that? We sent it up five years ago. Here," she indicated the control panel she was fiddling with outside the dark room, "we get the images and can … zoom in and … increase their size … to fit the ceiling … _there_." She finished tapping and turned to him, her eyes shining. "_This_ is my lab."

They entered the dark room and with the door shut, he couldn't see his hand in front of his face. Unsettled, he peered in her direction, but could see nothing. Suddenly, an enormous orange-green-blue-and-purple image appeared before his eyes, blurred for a moment, then clear and defined. A nebula. In its brassy glow he found Erin's face turned towards his. "What do you think?" she asked.

"It's beautiful," he said.

She nodded, still smiling. "It gets better."

The room blackened again, and he blinked. Then –

Stars, everywhere. All over the ceiling and walls – he realized that the room was spherical – the dim blue-white light falling to the floor and on their skin, making her labcoat unnaturally bright and glinting on her hair like a halo made of liquid lightning.

She had walked over to the wall and was rambling something technical about distances and actual color and lightspeed. "This is Cassiopeia, and Andromeda, and Perseus," she said, touching the groups of stars and standing on tip-toe where she couldn't quite reach, "though we rarely say the constellation names. Too unscientific, you know. We use Greek letters, or Betelgeuse, Rigel, Castor and Pollux, Deneb… "

"Vega, Sirius, Polaris," he said, pointing each out.

"Yeah." She was scrutinizing him as though he had just solved a Rubik's cube in ten seconds. "What, are you an amateur astronomer as well as a billionaire, polo player, nano-technician, chemist, and electrician?" she asked sarcastically.

He chuckled slightly, waving his hand. "No, that's just something I picked up in my travels."

A quiet "hmph" came from her direction. Unable to see her face, he couldn't tell if she was satisfied with his answer or not.

The stars dimmed, and after another moment of blackness, the lights came on.

"Well, that's the end of the tour, Mr. Wayne," she said. Checking her watch, she said, "I hope I didn't make you late for a meeting or anything. It's already one-o'clock."

"It's a Sunday," he said simply. "Even CEOs don't want meetings on Sundays. Thank you for taking the time –"

"Oh, it was no trouble at all," she said.

They walked back to the elevator and traveled down the five levels to the lobby in relative silence. She left the elevator first, then turned to say goodbye to him. He followed her out and saw her hang up her lab coat, grab a purse and head towards the door.

"Where are you off to now?" he asked from behind her. She again tucked her hair behind her ear with one hand as she faced him.

"Lunch, actually. And you?"

"The same. I don't mean to keep you, but…" _No_, whispered his conscience. _Don't do this. Don't ruin everything by starting a relationship…_ "… how are you getting home?"

She looked wary. _She's been hurt_, his conscience reminded him. _She doesn't need or want you in her life_. "I usually grab a cab."

He smiled and obstinately ignored his conscience. "Well, I'd like to offer you a ride, if that's all right."

"Mr. Wayne," she began.

"Erin," he said, holding her gaze with his own. "How many times do I have to ask you to call me Bruce?"

"I – I – I couldn't, really." Her eyes shone, trying to convey something he couldn't understand. "Listen, I'm just a – and you're … you're _Bruce Wayne_." Her hand passed over her eyes and fell to her side, and, sighing, she looked back up at him.

He realized his brow was furrowed and relaxed. "I understand," he said, though he didn't. Was it a money issue? Pride?

Could his conscience be right? Could she just not want him near? He couldn't believe that.

"No, you don't, I can tell," she said softly. "I just… need more time."

"More time?" he asked.

She nodded.

He wanted to damn Chester to hell for hurting her, for pushing her away from him, but he knew he couldn't. He settled for wishing he could meet him again one night, but in a dark alleyway.

"More time," he said again. _How much?_

She moved to the door, but he reacted and got there first. Outside, a gust had started, and a dark cloud was moving quickly towards the city. As he pushed the door open, a stream of air that smelled of rain and electricity blew inside, whipping back Erin's hair. A droplet fell on her face, but she brushed it away like a tear and stepped through the door he held for her.

He followed and let the door swing shut. She stood at the curb and waved for a taxi, but as the storm picked up, fewer and fewer were on the road. His limo drove around, but he didn't get in, and instead ran to her side.

"I can give you a ride, this way!"

She shook her head, fear in her eyes. "I can't!"

It began to rain. Lightning flashed.

"You're being foolish!" he said to her over the thunder. "Come on!"

He took her hand and pulled her reluctantly through the downpour to where his limo waited.

They slid onto cream-colored leather seats in the dark interior and Bruce slammed the door shut. "Lights," he called, and dim lights above the windows and below the seats brightened. He looked over at Erin. Her shirt, a thin grey knitted sweater, had darkened where the rain hit it. Her hair was soaked, sending rivulets of water down her neck. She was patting her face with her hands in an attempt to dry it. Tiny veins were barely visible on her hands, showing from the cold.

She _laughed_. And everything was all right. She covered her face with her hands, and the sound of her mirth crept through her fingers. Then her hands went away, and she smiled, still laughing, at his bewildered face. "Thank you," she said earnestly, and he felt a shiver of real déjà vu go down his spine. "I was being really stupid, wanting to wait for a taxi," she said, straightening her sweater, "Now that I'm here, would you mind driving me home?"

His grin became sly. "I don't think so. I'd– "

"Bruce Wayne, I don't care if you _are_ the richest man in Gotham, you _will_ take me home," she ordered him, pointing a finger at his chest. Her raised eyebrow suggested an "or else" tacked on to the end of the statement, and he pretended to cower.

"Of course, madam. I wouldn't want you to think I'm taking advantage of your dismal state."

"Dismal?" she responded huffily. "You should check a mirror yourself. _And_ you smell like a wet cat."

At this a laugh burst from his mouth. "I… don't think… anyone's ever called me a wet cat… before," he choked out as an answer to her surprised look.

"There's a first time for everything," she said. Then, tentatively, her hand came up toward his hair, and her fingers ran through it in an attempt to make it lie straight. "Oh, well." She sighed. "Your hair is apparently going to need professional help."

_No, stay_, he willed her hand as it returned to her side, but it ignored him.

_Could I give up everything for her? Everything I've striven for? Hound is still out there, as well as many other menaces I haven't even begun to tackle. Gotham isn't safe. And it can be, if I stay the course._

He looked over at Erin, now wringing water out of her shoulder-length hair and trying to comb it with a small brush she had pulled from her purse. She hadn't seemed to notice the limo's furnishings – _she's not interested in money_. Amazing, since she'd been engaged to a banker. _What drew her to him?_ he wondered for the millionth time since the night of the party. _And why does she want to push me away?_

_Leave her alone. You can only break her heart._

He slid forward to tap on the glass separating them from the front seat, and it rolled down. "Yes, sir?" said the man at the wheel.

Bruce looked questioningly over his shoulder at Erin. A smile was still on her face, but she had forgotten it. "Where to?"

She didn't say thank you out loud, but the look she gave him was enough. "Garridge's Apartments, on Atlee Way, number twenty-six," she said softly.

"You heard the lady," he said to the driver, and the window slid slowly back up to the roof.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

_I should have thanked him again,_ thought Erin, as she stepped into the shower in her apartment. In spite of herself, she found herself liking him more with every chance encounter. _At least I _think_ they're chance encounters._ She couldn't be sure, but she had occasionally felt – especially when she was out late – that someone was watching her. _And it doesn't feel like whoever-it-is is spying on me. It's more like… a guardian._ She shook her head at the cloud of steam, feeling decidedly embarrassed. _I'm glad I didn't say something that stupid out loud!_

Susan and George had gone out for the day – _again,_ she thought suspiciously – so she had the place to herself for the rest of her weekend. After an hour-long shower, she pulled on a thick bathrobe and some fuzzy slippers and curled up on the couch to read the newspaper. She perused the front page, then quickly scanned the entire first section: nothing. Second section: nothing. Third section: sports, so she tossed it aside. Nation&World, Faith&Values, the classifieds, the comics. Nothing, nada, zero, zilch.

She went back to Local/State and thoroughly searched the obituaries.

Discomfort wormed its way through her intestines when she found all deaths had occurred to people over the age of seventy.

"What's going on?" said Erin to herself. She didn't find it as easy to believe that Hound was gone for good without any press coverage, as Susan did. _People don't just disappear. Especially if they're mad terrorists. Which means…_

Her back stiffened. _He's still out there._

_But he doesn't know who I am, does he? He could have seen me in the news!_ She stood up and peered through the window shades, then closed them. She paced to the door, locked it, and paced back to the couch, pulling her legs beneath her and hugging a pillow. "He won't find me here. He wouldn't. Besides, I'm not that much of a threat. So I should just calm down."

She practiced some deep breathing, turned on the television, and slowly drifted to sleep.

She failed to see the nebulous vapor slipping up through the slits in the vent on the floor across the room.

Susan and George returned the apartment around midnight, holding hands and leaning lovingly into each other. They strolled up two flights of stairs without seeing them, and paused before the door as George fished the key out of his pocket. Susan semi-focused on running her hand up and down his back inside his jacket, but was more content just to stand with him nearby.

George looked at her when her hand suddenly stopped its movement. "What is it?"

Her eyes were wide. She pointed to the bottom of the door, where a pale grey vapor was seeping out and drifting away. "Ohmigod, a fire! Get the door open!" She banged on the door. "Erin!" She banged again. "Open the door, Erin!"

George unlocked the door and it swung open. A wall of the greyness stood before them, opaque and menacing and leaking away. They could faintly hear the sounds of the evening news; the TV must have been on. Susan fanned her hand in front of her face and yelled for her friend, but George grabbed her collar and pulled her back. "Do you smell that?" he asked her. "You can't go in there!"

"But, Erin – !"

He whipped out his cell and dialed 9-1-1 while keeping a firm hold on Susan, who was nearly sobbing, staring at the foul-smelling cloud that was cocooned within her apartment. He held the phone to his ear.

"Hey!" said a voice from the street. "Is somebody in that apartment? I just called the police 'cause of all the smoke…"

George turned to see a dark-skinned boarder coming up the stairs two at a time. He shut off his phone. "You called somebody?"

"Yeah, the police are on the way." The man stared. "That ain't smoke," he said in awe. "There somebody in there?"

"Erin," mumbled Susan, her eyes still wide and her head pressed against George's chest. The eerie call of distant sirens reached their ears.

The three heard a sudden crash of glass inside the apartment. Susan screamed and George held her closer, listening intently. A masculine voice spoke but it was too muffled for him to understand what it was saying. Then –

"GET OUT OF THE WAY!"

They shot apart to make way for the man barreling through the gas from the apartment. He carried something – Erin? – with ease as he ran lightly down the stairs to the street, his cape trailing in the air…

"Batman," George said wonderingly.

"Batman?" said Susan.

The man who had called the police was holding his cap down on his head, his jaw open. He mouthed, "Holy shit."

The trio followed him down, and they were amazed to see three police cars already pulling into the parking lot. The man in black had run past the cars and was disappearing into the night, Erin's body in his arms. "Wait!" called Susan feebly, as though she was unsure whether to trust him with her friend's life. George went with his gut feeling. "He saved her once, remember?" he whispered. "He can save her again."

The man who helped them had joined the police, who had their guns out and pointed in the direction where the Batman had disappeared but did not fire. One policeman with glasses was making lowering motions at the gunmen, and they slowly complied. There was a squeal of tires, and George knew Batman – and Erin – had sped away to who-knew-where.

Susan was holding him tightly, and he stroked her dark hair, twining the ends around his finger. The policeman with glasses walked up to them. "Is this your apartment, sir?" he asked George.

"Yeah. No. It's hers," he said, motioning to Susan, who pulled away from him and looked at the officer.

"Yes, it's half mine, and my friend…" Here she looked to where the last of Batman's cape had camouflaged with the night. "She was in the building."

The officer followed her gaze, then turned back to them with a tiny smile adorning his features. "I'm Captain Jim Gordon, of Gotham City PD. I'll need your names – yours and your friend's, please."

George kept his hand on Susan's shoulder as she answered all of Captain Gordon's questions. He hoped she was okay. They could stay at his place, or his sister's, until the apartment was cleaned out from whatever poison had filled the air.

Wondering _how_ the poison had gotten into the building gave him a chill, and he left the matter to the police.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

_She was in a car on the highway. Tall light poles passed the window with every second; the shadows danced as though on a sundial, around and around and around before her eyes. She closed them._

_She remembered… She was flying, watching the tiny police pass below her. Wind rushed against her face, cool, clean air, not smoky and scalding. Tears formed in her eyes, but only from the speed of the gusting air. She closed them._

_She heard her name and felt someone lift her and hold her, both as she moved through the air and as she got into the car. She felt safe and let herself sleep._

_Voices. She was cold, and a mist of water in the air was making her colder. What were the voices saying?_

The_ voice, the rough one that had called her name, said, "Have to. We can't get it all out with this equipment."_

_"Are you sure, sir?"_

_"Don't have a …"_

_She tried climbing out of the deep well of unconsciousness to hear what it was he didn't have, but fell backwards into nothingness._

She awoke in a hospital bed in a dark ward. A monitor beeped in time with her heart. A blue digital readout clock on the bedside table read 12:25. A constant ache in her arm nagged at her, but she didn't try moving the limb.

_Okay,_ she thought, still drowsy. _Waking up in hospitals had better not become a habit of mine._

Light fell into her eyes as a nurse opened the door. In walked Dr. Guss, closely followed by … Susan?

Her doctor flicked on the lights in the ward. Erin lifted a few fingers as her friend came over to her bed, too tired to try anything else. "Hey," she said, her mouth dry and her voice scratchy. She did not try to sit up, or even to move, because her fuzzy brain was telling her that would be a bad idea. Susan's lips were moving and she was smoothing Erin's hair from her face in a motherly fashion, but the high whine in her ears was effectively drowning out all other sound.

Something glittered. Erin followed Susan's hand with her eyes, appreciating the sparkling stone on her ring finger. She smiled a little. _I'm the maid of honor_, she wanted to tell her friend, but the words wouldn't come. _I'll tell her when I wake up again_, thought Erin sleepily.

Dr. Guss had come to the bed. He sat down on a stool, and Erin watched as his eyes flicked from monitor screen to her body, testing her health with his gaze and scribbling on a notepad. He did not stop Susan's ministrations, which were sending Erin back to sleep despite the ringing. Her vision swirled and disappeared.

A deep voice was speaking. (It wasn't _the_ voice. She wished it were.) Dr. Guss was still in her room.

She opened her eyes to see him slip the IV out of her arm. She winced and bit her lip, looking away. The clock read 3:30.

The ringing was gone. "You're awake!" said the doctor in his rumbling baritone. "Right on time. A few minutes ago we got the last of the aniline out of your system, Ms. Vinestradt." He waved the nurse outside.

When the door clicked shut, he sat down on his stool and set his clipboard on his lap. "Alright, Ms. Vinestradt – may I call you Erin?"

"Okay."

"As a doctor who has seen you too frequently in his care recently, I want to know _exactly_ what is going on with you."

Erin blinked.

"Aniline?" she asked drowsily.

The doctor sighed. "Yes. Aniline. A compound used in dyes that, if inhaled or swallowed, can cause severe damage to the nervous and circulatory systems. And, my dear," he went on in a less intimidating tone, "it most certainly did just that to you. What I want to know is, _why_? Two brushes with death in less than three weeks is a bit abnormal for anyone except maybe police, or the poor souls who live in the Narrows. And you don't. I took a history." His needling gaze left her momentarily to check the monitors again. "The funny thing is, I didn't see any signs of depression in you or your family. You handled a heavy course load in college remarkably well, you keep good company, you don't drink, smoke, or do drugs. Until, apparently, now."

Offended, Erin found the energy to sit up a little more. "I _didn't_ put that gas in my apartment, Dr. Guss. I'm fine. And it's not as though I _meant_ to be in the WSF when Hound's men bombed it. I'm _not_ suicidal, or I wouldn't have tried so hard to get the hell out of there."

He nodded. "I understand, however, that you went through a breakup recently? That's hard on everyone, my dear," he said, patting her hand. "I myself have been through divorce."

She was already shaking her head. "Tim had nothing to do with this. I'm over him. I didn't do this to myself."

He gave her a concerned look, then moved his hands to push her back against the pillow, saying, "Good, good. I just wanted to make sure. Now, what has _really_ been going on?"

_What _had_ been going on_? She got that ride from Bruce and went inside, took a shower… and then what? She fell asleep with the TV on. And she'd been terrified of Hound coming after her… If the poison had been his doing, why – if he could get so close to her without her knowing – didn't he just slit her throat, as he did his other victims, like the security guard at the WSF? She shivered at the thought and resisted the temptation to rub her neck. And how _had_ he known where she lived?

And how _did_ she get out of the building without waking up?

_Gloved hands tapping her, holding her face, reaching around to lift her from the couch… the voice, the sound of a gargoyle's speech, calling her name…_

She shook her head to clear it. She looked at the powerfully built man on the stool and wondered how much she could safely tell him without coming off as insane. After taking a deep breath, she said, "I think… I think that I'm being–"

A knock on the door sounded, and it opened to reveal a nurse – _Jenna_, Erin recalled from her previous visit – who said that a man was here to see Ms. Vinestradt; if she was able to receive visitors, could she let him in?

Dr. Guss gave Erin a look that told her the conversation wasn't finished, and nodded. The door opened wider.

Bruce Wayne, dressed in an impeccable storm-gray suit and silk tie, entered her hospital room, a smile of relief spanning his face. Shock engulfed her. She could feel her face twisting between a look of surprise and a look of delight, and it finally settled on surprise.

_This can't be happening. He … can't be _here.

He walked up and took her partially numb hand in his own warm one; it seared her skin where his fingertips brushed, and the fire moved up her arm to redden her face.

"I thought…" he started, his voice unusually uneven. Then he chuckled to himself. "It was almost my fault, I left you alone like that…"

"Don't," Erin scoffed as firmly as she could, though her voice was still tired and hoarse. "You are … such an idiot. No one … could have known, so don't you _dare_ blame yourself." When he looked sheepish and about to speak again, she said, "Not one word of self-deprecation, or I will order you out." Her glance flicked to Dr. Guss, who was watching their interaction with a bit of surprise, but he took her meaning easily. "My doctor will make sure of it."

"Okay!" Bruce threw his hands up in defense before taking hers again. Then he glanced around her room, searching for something else to say. His eyes suddenly seemed to light up. "How _did_ you escape?" He lowered his voice. "There are rumors that Batman saved you… again."

_"Erin!" grated the voice; she tried opening her eyes but nothing wanted to cooperate, she was numb, she was alone in darkness, except for… "Erin!"_ …

But she did not want to talk about Batman around Bruce. "I don't remember how I got out," she said finally. "I suppose a fireman or someone must have pulled me out."

"Really? You don't remember anything?"

The attention of his dark eyes was making her uncomfortable. "Not a thing," she said.

He nodded. "What are you going to do?"

"Do?"

"Yes…" His brow creased as he lifted his eyebrows. "You know, they had to…" His frown deepened, and he turned halfway in his seat to look at the doctor near the door. "Should I tell her…" he said, then to Erin, "Um, hold on a moment…"

He walked over to where Guss was and they spoke together in hushed tones, excluding the already-exhausted Erin, which easily upset her. Then he nodded shortly to Guss and returned to her bedside. His frown had not left, but she was momentarily comforted by him taking her hand in both of his own. She looked at her doctor to read his expression. Guss was frowning as well, and Erin panicked. "Tell me what?" she asked the two men. Her weak fingers gripped the hand that held them. "Tell me _what_?"

Guss left them alone; apparently this was a conversation he didn't want a part of. Bruce turned back to her, seemingly nervous, and he could not hold her gaze for long. "Erin, they had to sanitize your apartment, your possessions, everything the aniline touched." She waited. When he did not go on, apprehension stole over her again, and she let go of his hand.

"_What did they do?_" she whispered.

"They had to burn most of it," he said softly. "I'm sorry. They said your roommate, Susan Anders, already told you."

Erin nodded wearily, saying, "I remember her coming in. Do you know if… the apartment is… livable?"

He shook his head, and her hopes fell. "It has to be thoroughly cleansed and tested before they can rent it out again. All the vents and pipes must be replaced, the wallpaper and paint –"

"Have the investigators found out how the aniline got in?" she asked before he could continue with his detail of the destruction of her home.

"No," he said irritably. "There's been nothing. No one was seen going into your apartment between the times when you left and when you returned, but that doesn't mean anything. There are no video or audio recordings, no sensors were tripped, no men in black masks, no hidden bodies…"

Taken aback, Erin said, "Aren't you the pessimist. Who said they were murderers? Perhaps it was an innocent mistake," she said without much conviction, "…two chemical cleaners that had a bad reaction, or something simple like that."

"This was definitely aniline. A pure form, which means it was manufactured, bought, and well-placed in the vent cycle to fill only your apartment. Which I find more than a little suspicious."

"You're saying…"

"Yes," he answered her unfinished question. "I think someone was trying to harm you, or kill you." He must have caught sight of her stricken expression, because he suddenly stopped his tirade and, after realizing he was pacing, sat down again on the stool.

He waited until she had found her voice. "I was worried you were going to say something like that," she said. "Before I fell asleep, I looked through the paper, because I thought Hound may be after me. Because of the antitoxin." At his nod, she continued, "But I couldn't find anything on him. I just can't believe that he's … gone. I mean, wouldn't he be front-page news?"

"You would think so. But his capture isn't being kept quiet. It hasn't happened …yet." There was a frightening intensity in his eyes for a moment, but the moment passed.

Erin could feel an irrational fear threaten to choke her, and though she tried to quell it, it built up in her chest, up, up, up, until she felt as though she would break down at any moment. _I _knew_ Hound was still alive, no matter what Susan said, I never really believed her, and now he's coming after me. He almost got me this time… what about next time? What if Susan and George had been in the apartment with me? Batman couldn't have gotten all of us out in time. And it would be my fault if anyone got hurt._

_But what can I do? I can get out of Gotham. Get a nice job as a professor at some university. Get as far away from this city and Hound as I can, and if that isn't far enough, I'll go farther._

She didn't notice she was seizing, or the fact that Bruce had taken her hand again, or that Dr. Guss had returned to monitor her life-lines, bringing the nurse with him. "Still some trace aniline, damn, must have missed it," he muttered to himself, but Bruce heard and rubbed her arm steadily. The nurse injected a sedative into Erin's arm and she relaxed. Suddenly, her eyes opened wide.

"Batman," she whispered, staring at Bruce.

He froze, meeting her eyes. _Stay calm_, he told himself. _She doesn't know what she's saying._ "No, Erin," he murmured. "I'm Bruce. I'm right here." He continued to rub her arm to keep the blood circulating, letting her kidneys do their best to get rid of the last of the poison. Her eyes slowly closed and she breathed deeply.

"Just asleep," the doctor said in a relieved voice. "That could have been much worse."

"She'll be okay?" Bruce asked.

Guss nodded. "I'm fairly sure that was the last of it, but as we already made a mistake, we'll keep her here overnight." He peered at the multi-billionaire. "What exactly is your relation to Miss Vinestradt?"

"A concerned friend."

Guss grunted. "Well, I don't know what your medical training is, but I'm glad you were nearby."

"It was nothing." The room was becoming stifling, and Bruce made his exit swift.

"Everything alright, sir?" Alfred asked him as he left the ward. "Is the young lady going to make it?"

"Yes, Alfred, she is," answered Bruce with a bit of pride, and he quickly tamped it down. Pride was dangerous.

"Glad to hear it, sir. If I may ask, where are we off to now?"

"Back home."

Bruce slid into the backseat of the limousine and Alfred took the wheel. They drove in silence for minutes, and Alfred grew bored. Seeing his charge was staring out the window, he decided to turn on the radio. As his hand stretched toward the console, however, another glance at Bruce made him pause. Real hope for the young man swelled in him, for there on his face was a faint smile.

"You're smiling, Master Wayne," commented the older man. "It's been a long time since I saw that sight. I'll have to mark the day."

Bruce started from his reverie. "I was not," he said seriously, tonelessly.

"Whatever you say," Alfred responded. He knew what he saw.

When Bruce insisted they return to the hospital later that evening and again the next morning to check on the young woman, Alfred knew something was up. On their way home after the morning visit, he decided to mention his observations to Bruce.

"If I may, sir, you seemed to have grown quite fond of—"

"Alfred, if this has anything to do with my relationship to Ms. Vinestradt, I'd be grateful if you left it alone."

Alfred wasn't going to leave it at that. Now he was certain there was something going on. "Master Bruce, I only wish to inquire as to how far you intend to take this relationship." He sighed. "God knows, the young lady has been through enough already."

"I know my duty, Alfred."

"I know you do, sir, only—"

"Then leave it alone," Bruce said almost menacingly. "Do you think I haven't thought about this?" He settled back in his seat, a hand on his forehead, his brows drawn together and his eyes closed. "I'm trying, Alfred," he continued, quieter. "I'm trying to find… the balance I had. Do you remember? I was so _focused_…"

"I remember you nearly worked yourself to death those first months, Master Bruce, and that it was only at my urging that you ever got any sleep," the British caretaker said. "I remember the days and weeks that went by when I didn't hear anything from you except a few words about your current criminal obsession. I remember when you only pretended to play polo; I remember when you had no friend in the world and every night you nearly died trying to protect these people…"

"I've done what I've had to do."

Alfred waited a moment after this before continuing. "I remember Rachel, sir."

Bruce was still. "I remember her too. But she—"

"She left because she grew tired of waiting for you. She was willing to wait even after she found out about – how you spend your nights."

"She didn't wait that long. She left after only four months—"

"Four months, sir, is a very long time for a young woman. They don't like growing old alone. I just want to know, sir, how long you will make Ms. Erin wait for you?" Alfred checked his rearview: Bruce was staring out the window at the passing trees.

"I don't want to put her in danger," he said so softly that Alfred wasn't sure he actually heard anything.

They pulled up the mansion. "It's too late for that, sir," said Alfred as he parked. "She's already got that beast after her. Don't you think she'd be safer with you?"

The entered the mansion, and Alfred followed Bruce to the library, where his charge played a nonsense tune on the old discordant piano. A wall opened to show steps leading down to a ladder. _Back to the good fight_, thought Alfred resignedly. He decided to put in the last word. "You know she trusts you."

His words seemed to fall on deaf ears as the wall panel slid back into place.

Deep below the mansion's southeast foundations, Bruce passed by the armoire that held his Batsuit. He paused to open it and stare at the mask. "No, Alfred, not me. She trusts Batman."

He closed it and went to work. Four hours later, he and Alfred left for the hospital as Dr. Vinestradt was discharged. Upon their return home, Alfred began preparing a guest bedroom as Bruce led his companion on a tour of the grounds of her new home.


End file.
